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lunarfly · 3 years

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Essay: Harry and Hermione’s chemistry

We all know that Emma and Daniel had excellent chemistry so Harry and Hermione naturally had great chemistry in the movies. It was quite obviously visible. But many book readers have claimed that Harry and Hermione’s chemistry only exists in the movies and they felt they lacked chemistry in the books. It can be quite tricky at first since the book scenes are only imagined in our heads and we can’t see the author’s imagination and her views on the scenes and interactions. But, luckily, canon has provided us with plenty of evidence that Harry and Hermione had excellent chemistry, visible to many people around them. Let’s take a look:

“That was a really horrible trick of Hermione Granger’s,” said Cho fiercely. “She should have told us she’d jinxed that list —”

“I think it was a brilliant idea,” said Harry coldly. Cho flushed and her eyes grew brighter.

“Oh yes, I forgot — of course, if it was darling Hermione’s idea —”

“Don’t start crying again,” said Harry warningly.

It’s very obvious that Cho has noticed how close Harry and Hermione are and she’s jealous, even suspicious that there’s something going on between them. It’s clear that whatever interaction between Harry and Hermione Cho has witnessed, they had chemistry.

If this was all of our evidence of H/Hr’s chemistry, I’d ignore it and assume Cho was only jealous because of their disastrous date when Harry left Cho to see Hermione. Perhaps most of her jealousy came from that scene. But this isn’t all of our evidence. We see even more people being jealous and getting suspicious about H/Hr’s relationship:

When at last they had reached a quiet stretch of ground a short way from the Beauxbatons horses’ paddock, Krum stopped in the shade of the trees and turned to face Harry.

“I vant to know,” he said, glowering, “vot there is between you and Hermyown-ninny.”

Harry, who from Krum’s secretive manner had expected something much more serious than this, stared up at Krum in amazement.

“Nothing,” he said. But Krum glowered at him, and Harry, somehow struck anew by how tall Krum was, elaborated.

“We’re friends. She’s not my girlfriend and she never has been. It’s just that Skeeter woman making things up.”

“Hermy-own-ninny talks about you very often,” said Krum, looking suspiciously at Harry.

“Yeah,” said Harry, “because we’re friends.”

He couldn’t quite believe he was having this conversation with Viktor Krum, the famous International Quidditch player. It was as though the eighteen-year-old Krum thought he, Harry, was an equal — a real rival —

Very interesting indeed. Not only is Krum so jealous that he’s “glowering” (”have an angry or sullen look on one's face; scowl”) at Harry, he also doesn’t believe Harry that he’s just friends with Hermione, even after he explained it very clearly. He still adds how much Hermione talks about Harry, he’s looking suspicious and feels the need of a reconfirmation that H/Hr are not dating. It’s possible that Rita Skeeter’s articles are influencing his thoughts and sure, Hermione talks about Harry a lot (already indicating that she’s very passionate about Harry, we talk about things we like, or feel strong emotions about) and that could be the only thing that makes Krum “suspicious” about H/Hr but would he really still be that jealous if there was absolutely no chemistry between Harry and Hermione? This is definitely a clue on Harry and Hermione’s chemistry in the books.

Another extremely interesting detail is that Harry is enjoying this. He likes the idea of Krum being his equal, a rival! This has nothing to do with their chemistry, of course, but it’s definitely suspicious...

Still think there’s no chemistry between them? Here’s another person who noticed that Harry and Hermione were very close, a little too close:

Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school.

So Colin Creevey noticed how much time they spend together, but I just can’t believe that’s the only thing making him believe they’re in love! There has to be some noticeable chemistry between them to come to this conclusion.

I know it’s Rita Skeeter assuming that H/Hr are so close only because they’re dating, but Colin probably told her more than it’s written here. Would Rita believe Colin that Harry and Hermione are boyfriend and girlfriend merely because he said they hang out often? I don’t think so. I think Colin elaborated on his suspicions of H/Hr. But maybe it was just one of Rita Skeeter’s exaggerations. Either way, there’s more proof of their chemistry:

“Are you going to tell us — ?”

Hermione shook her head warningly and glanced at Mrs. Weasley.

“Hello, Hermione,” said Mrs. Weasley, much more stiffly than usual.

“Hello,” said Hermione, her smile faltering at the cold expression on Mrs. Weasley’s face.

Harry looked between them, then said, “Mrs. Weasley, you didn’t believe that rubbish Rita Skeeter wrote in Witch Weekly, did you? Because Hermione’s not my girlfriend.”

“Oh!” said Mrs. Weasley. “No — of course I didn’t!”

But she became considerably warmer toward Hermione after that.

So even Molly believed that Harry and Hermione were boyfriend and girlfriend (and Hermione had ‘broken Harry’s heart’)? Come on, their chemistry was so noticeable that even Molly thought it was believable enough. ...Although Molly does believe everything that newspapers and magazines say. And maybe she didn’t know them well enough because she assumed Hermione could break Harry’s heart.

Still don’t believe that Harry and Hermione had lots of chemistry in the books? Maybe you’re right, we need to actually see the chemistry, not just have others notice it. And guess what? We do get to see their chemistry. This often happens when Ron becomes suspicious of a possible H/Hr relationship. Ron, their closest friend who knows basically everything about them, suspects that Harry and Hermione are secretly in love. And he is quite rightly suspicious of them when we have moments like these demonstrating their perfect chemistry in the books:

“We’ll go down after Quidditch,” Harry assured her. He too was missing Hagrid, although like Ron he thought that they were better off without Grawp in their lives. “But trials might take all morning, the number of people who have applied.” He felt slightly nervous at confronting the first hurdle of his Captaincy. “I dunno why the team’s this popular all of a sudden.”

“Oh, come on, Harry,” said Hermione, suddenly impatient. “It’s not Quidditch that’s popular, it’s you! You’ve never been more interesting, and frankly, you’ve never been more fanciable.”

Ron gagged on a large piece of kipper. Hermione spared him one look of disdain before turning back to Harry.

“Everyone knows you’ve been telling the truth now, don’t they? The whole Wizarding world has had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really have fought him twice in the last two years and escaped both times. And now they’re calling you ‘the Chosen One’ — well, come on, can’t you see why people are fascinated by you?”

Harry was finding the Great Hall very hot all of a sudden, even though the ceiling still looked cold and rainy.

“And you’ve been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway. . . .”

“You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry, look,” said Ron, shaking back his sleeves.

“And it doesn’t hurt that you’ve grown about a foot over the summer either,” Hermione finished, ignoring Ron.

“I’m tall,” said Ron inconsequentially.

Wow. Hermione really made up a whole monologue about Harry being fanciable and attractive! If this conversation doesn’t convince you that there was chemistry between them, probably nothing will. Let’s analyze this scene:

Hermione starts talking about Harry and how fanciable he is, how interesting he is, how attractive looks and qualities he has, going on and on... Hermione is clearly showing her interest in Harry and basically flirting with him. But what interests me is this moment:

Harry was finding the Great Hall very hot all of a sudden, even though the ceiling still looked cold and rainy.

He’s actually blushing. Hermione’s compliments have a very obvious effect on him. But something that fascinates me more is the way this is written. He isn’t just blushing, no. Harry never said something like:

Harry was feeling his face growing very hot all of a sudden.

Instead, we have the Great Hall going “very hot”. It isn’t just his face and his blush, it’s the whole hall. This indicates clear tension between Harry and Hermione.

You could say that all of these compliments that Hermione is giving Harry are just facts and reasons why other girls find him attractive. But this isn’t the case. There’s obvious romantic tension between them.

Another thing to note is Ron’s jealousy. He “gags on a large piece of kipper” and he keeps interrupting Hermione, saying and showing why he is fanciable too. The chemistry is undeniable at this point.

You could argue that Hermione was complimenting Harry to make Ron jealous, that his suspicions were expected and intended. And it does seem so at first sight: Hermione compliments Harry in front of Ron, also being very impatient as if she had been planning this conversation, as well as pointing out lots of “fanciable” things that apply to Ron as well (the scars, the height), ignoring Ron to make him more jealous. You may be tricked into thinking so. But this isn’t the case.

First of all, if she wanted to make Ron jealous, don’t you think Hermione would’ve been enjoying the reaction? Why is she giving him these “looks of disdain”(note that this isn’t the first time she has given him nasty looks)? Wouldn’t she be looking away from him, smiling to herself? At least looking a little pleased?

And if she really wanted to make Ron jealous, why would she use Harry of everyone? Maybe because he and Ron had a lot of similarities that could be convenient for making him jealous? But this isn’t like Hermione at all. This isn’t her technique of making people jealous.

“What’s happened to you?” asked Harry, for Hermione looked distinctly disheveled, rather as though she had just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil’s Snare.

“Oh, I’ve just escaped — I mean, I’ve just left Cormac,” she said. “Under the mistletoe,” she added in explanation, as Harry continued to look questioningly at her.

“Serves you right for coming with him,” he told her severely.

“I thought he’d annoy Ron most,” said Hermione dispassionately. “I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole —”

“You considered Smith?” said Harry, revolted.

“Yes, I did, and I’m starting to wish I’d chosen him, McLaggen makes Grawp look a gentleman. Let’s go this way, we’ll be able to see him coming, he’s so tall. . . .”

Hermione picks the people Ron despises the most to make him jealous - like Cormac McLaggen and Zacharias Smith. Hermione had no reason to use Harry to make Ron jealous. She had no reason to make Ron jealous at all. So that argument is definitely debunked.

Could Hermione have told Harry all of these things because she really didn’t mean them and was just pointing them out from a different teenage girl’s point of view? That just can’t be the case. Otherwise she would’ve been complimenting Ron too. If the only purpose for this speech was to show Harry his attractive traits, she would’ve laughed at Ron’s remarks and agreed that he was fanciable too in other girls’ eyes because he had many of the same “fanciable” traits.

So Hermione was definitely showing her attraction towards Harry which is also made obvious by Harry’s reaction to it and the romantic tension between them that even Ron couldn’t deny.

Believe it or not, this isn’t the only moment when Harry and Hermione are literally flirting. Take a look at another scene of Ron third wheeling Harry and Hermione and looking suspicious:

As they came into the castle they spotted Cormac McLaggen entering the Great Hall. It took him two attempts to get through the doors; he ricocheted off the frame on the first attempt. Ron merely guffawed gloatingly and strode off into the Hall after him, but Harry caught Hermione’s arm and held her back.

“What?” said Hermione defensively.

“If you ask me,” said Harry quietly, “McLaggen looks like he was Confunded this morning. And he was standing right in front of where you were sitting.” Hermione blushed.

“Oh, all right then, I did it,” she whispered. “But you should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny! Anyway, he’s got a nasty temper, you saw how he reacted when he didn’t get in — you wouldn’t have wanted someone like that on the team.”

“No,” said Harry. “No, I suppose that’s true. But wasn’t that dishonest, Hermione? I mean, you’re a prefect, aren’t you?”

“Oh, be quiet,” she snapped, as he smirked.

“What are you two doing?” demanded Ron, reappearing in the doorway to the Great Hall and looking suspicious.

“Nothing,” said Harry and Hermione together, and they hurried after Ron. The smell of roast beef made Harry’s stomach ache with hunger, but they had barely taken three steps toward the Gryffindor table when Professor Slughorn appeared in front of them, blocking their path.

Try denying their chemistry here.

Just imagine two (straight) friends of the opposite gender, the boy grabbing the girl’s arm and turning her around (the tension!!!) and her acting all defensive, and then the boy telling her something that makes her blush and admit something while whispering. Then the boy jokingly teasing her about it and smirking while the girl tells him to be quiet playfully. Yeah, that’s called flirting and they have extremely obvious chemistry.

The funnier part is Ron noticing this and suspiciously confronting Harry and Hermione while they quickly say “nothing” at the same time and catch up with him.

I don’t think an explanation is even necessary, anyone who denies their chemistry in this scene is basically lying to themselves and is willingly blinding themselves.

Here’s another interesting scene from HBP with Ron getting jealous of H/Hr’s chemistry once again:

Malfoy looked rather as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face. Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and whispered, “Did you really tell him I’m the best in the year? Oh, Harry!”

“Well, what’s so impressive about that?” whispered Ron, who for some reason looked annoyed. “You are the best in the year — I’d’ve told him so if he’d asked me!”

Hermione smiled but made a “shhing” gesture, so that they could hear what Slughorn was saying. Ron looked slightly disgruntled.

Here Harry and Hermione’s chemistry isn’t really made clear but just look at the way Hermione turns to Harry. He literally sees her expression as “radiant” (this adjective has also been used to describe Ginny’s smile) and Hermione looks simply delighted. They were clearly having a great moment here, so good, in fact, that Ron becomes jealous and annoyed and tries to pretend Harry’s compliment wasn’t a big deal. He compliments Hermione the same way as Harry did but she doesn’t have such a “radiant” smile this time, does she? Instead she shushes him(poor Ron just wanted attention from his future wife!). Ron has every right to be disgruntled in this scene.

This is the third time in HBP that Ron is third-wheeling Harry and Hermione. Whether anti-H/Hrs want to admit it or not, Ron is a third-wheel to Harry and Hermione very often and becomes very jealous of their chemistry. JKR, it really isn’t funny, where are the R/Hr flirting moments? They’re supposed to be the endgame couple, aren’t they? Why do you have so many moments between Harry and Hermione when they’re clearly flirting and demonstrating what excellent chemistry looks like?

Apparently, Harry and Hermione have had such chemistry in the past that, even when they’re not flirting, Ron still becomes suspicious of Harry and Hermione’s ‘possible secret relationship’:

“Because she was crying,” Harry continued heavily.

“Oh,” said Ron, his smile fading slightly. “Are you that bad at kissing?”

“Dunno,” said Harry, who hadn’t considered this, and immediately felt rather worried. “Maybe I am.”

“Of course you’re not,” said Hermione absently, still scribbling away at her letter.

“How do you know?” said Ron in a sharp voice.

“Because Cho spends half her time crying these days,” said Hermione vaguely. “She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place.”

Ron suspected that Harry and Hermione had kissed before. His suspects are quite obvious, judging from the tone of his voice. No matter how insecure Ron is, he is still their best friend, he should know that they’re not interested into each other romantically. But it seems like it’s so apparent to everyone that Harry and Hermione have something going on.

Here’s another moment showing us Harry and Hermione’s chemistry:

“Harry!” Hermione cried.

“I know!” Harry shouted. Unable to contain himself, he punched the air; it was more than he had dared to hope for. He strode up and down the tent, feeling that he could have run a mile; he did not even feel hungry anymore. Hermione was squashing Phineas Nigellus’s portrait back into the beaded bag; when she had fastened the clasp she threw the bag aside and raised a shining face to Harry.

“The sword can destroy Horcruxes! Goblin-made blades imbibe only that which strengthen them — Harry, that sword’s impregnated with basilisk venom!”

“And Dumbledore didn’t give it to me because he still needed it, he wanted to use it on the locket —”

“— and he must have realized they wouldn’t let you have it if he put it in his will —”

“— so he made a copy —”

“— and put a fake in the glass case —”

“— and he left the real one — where?”

They gazed at each other; Harry felt that the answer was dangling invisibly in the air above them, tantalizingly close. Why hadn’t Dumbledore told him? Or had he, in fact, told Harry, but Harry had not realized it at the time?

“Think!” whispered Hermione. “Think! Where would he have left it?”

“Not at Hogwarts,” said Harry, resuming his pacing.

“Somewhere in Hogsmeade?” suggested Hermione.

“The Shrieking Shack?” said Harry. “Nobody ever goes in there.”

“But Snape knows how to get in, wouldn’t that be a bit risky?”

“Dumbledore trusted Snape,” Harry reminded her.

“Not enough to tell him that he had swapped the swords,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, you’re right!” said Harry, and he felt even more cheered at the thought that Dumbledore had had some reservations, however faint, about Snape’s trustworthiness. “So, would he have hidden the sword well away from Hogsmeade, then? What d’you reckon, Ron? Ron?”

Harry looked around. For one bewildered moment he thought that Ron had left the tent, then realized that Ron was lying in the shadow of a lower bunk, looking stony.

Just look at the intensity of this scene!

Firstly, when Harry and Hermione find out exciting news, they figure it out themselves and alone, they didn’t even think of Ron. Then look at how happy Harry and Hermione are feeling, their hopes high, their spirits lifted, their excitement causing the tension! Hermione’s face is “shining”!

Then they start discussing, knowing what the other is thinking and finishing each other’s sentences! The way they interact is precious, they’re “gazing” at each other, feeling something “tantalizingly close.” They start whispering. It’s so intense and full of tension and chemistry. They’re so excited. They even completely forgot about Ron(I feel so bad for him), Harry even thought that he had left.

This is one of the strongest Harmione scenes ever, the chemistry between them is incomparable to anyone else’s. Just imagine being Ron right now, watching the love of your life have this intense conversation with your and her best friend, sharing this exciting moment, experiencing all of this without you. And you just sit there and watch. Just watch. Ron’s jealousy, intensified by the horcrux, was the one thing that made him leave Harry and Hermione in the tent. And Ron did have a reason to be jealous.

So they do have chemistry in the books, everyone sees it, including Harry and Hermione’s dates, their closest friend, their “families”, their fans. Everyone except for anti-Harmiones. I tried making up excuses for why others assume Harry and Hermione are together, that maybe I’m misinterpreting something and it’s not because of their chemistry. But when you put everything together, it should become obvious. You have to be insanely biased and willingly ignore everything to come to the conclusion that they don’t have any chemistry.

I’m not even going in detail about physical contact between them. It would take too long. They grab each other’s hand/arm, they hold onto each other for strength and protect each other, they’re very comfortable with hugs and kisses and their physical connection is another piece of proof of their undeniable chemistry.

Even JKR has admitted that they had some “charged moments” in DH in the tent, which is her way of saying that they had intense chemistry:

[Kloves] felt a certain pulll between them at that point. And I think he's right. There are moments when [Harry and Hermione] touch, which are charged moments. One when she touches his hair as he sits on the hiltop reading about Dumbledore and Grindelwald, and [two] the moment when they walk out of the graveyard with their arms around each other. Now the fact is that Hermione shares moments with Harry that Ron will never be able to participate in. He walked out. She shared something very intense with Harry. So I think it could have gone that way.

In conclusion, Harry and Hermione have excellent chemistry in the books, even better and stronger than in the movies. None of the movie scenes showed their chemistry with this intensity. Their romantic tension was much better in the books. Harry and Hermione have chemistry.

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silverflame2724 · 3 years

Note

WWX decides to kill two birds with one stone and with the help of WQ reforges the Stygian Tiger Seal into a artificial golden core replacement which she implants into WWX.

WWXs eyes are now permanently red and he has the full power of the seal at his fingertips at all times because its part of him now.

Another side effect of this Stygian Core is discovered when WWX misses JZXs ambush and is instead attacked and disembowled in Carp Tower in full view of the cultivation world but then immediately regenerates without a scratch and blood ruined robes.

Watching WWX be more annoyed at the bloody robes than being disembowled because the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation has apparently cultivated to immortality USING RESENTMENT shakes a lot of people.

“Huh.” Wen Qing says as she observes yet another failure of Wei Wuxian’s inventions quite literally blow up in his face. “So this Seal of yours protects you?”

Wei Wuxian coughs from the smoke of his busted invention, “Well, yeah. What about it?”

“It’s sentient, correct?”

“Yeah....?”

“Hmm.” Wen Qing observed the Seal slowly bobbing up and down. “Can you circulate resentful energy through the Seal for a moment? Don’t make it do anything. Just channel resentful energy through it like you would if you channeled spiritual energy normally.”

“Okayyy??” Wei Wuxian was perplexed but nevertheless obeyed and watched as Wen Qing’s eyes brightened. “What? What is it? Wen Qing, tell meeeeee! Don’t leave me out!!!!!”

“Brat, I’m trying to concentrate.” She scolded him, but her tone was fond.

Wei Wuxian waited a few more moments before it seemed like Wen Qing had seen enough.

“I want you to calm down when I say this, but I think you can reforge the Seal into a core which I can transfer into you.”

Wei Wuxian was silent......for about two seconds. “............What?”

Wen Qing sighed. “Wei Wuxian, when you channeled resentful energy through the Seal, the Seal acted much like how it would if someone were to channel spiritual energy through their core. The Seal can be made into an artificial core is what I’m saying.”

“I.....you are sure?” Wei Wuxian asked. He knew Wen Qing wouldn’t joke about this.

“Yes. I’m about eighty percent sure this will go well. I can even knock you out when I cut you open this time.”

“I.....okay.” Wei Wuxian was at a loss for words.

“So I’ve rendered you speechless.” Wen Qing smiled. “That kinda feels good.”

Wei Wuxian pouted.

...........

It took a few days to reform the Seal into a form that would resemble a core but Wei Wuxian was a genius and having Wen Qing there to bounce ideas off of helped in giving him a clue as to how a core should look and feel like.

“Are you ready?” Wen Qing asked.

Wei Wuxian, who was one hundred percent not ready, said, “Yes.”

Wen Qing saw through this. “It will be alright.” She squeezed his hand. “This time, it will be alright.”

That was the last thing he heard before he was knocked out.

When he awoke, his eyes had burned for a little before the pain dissipated.

Wen Qing had been in the midst of declaring the operation successful when she suddenly paused, “Huh.”

“What is it?” He asked nervously. Did something go wrong?

“Oh.....it’s, hmm. A’ Ning, get me some water, will you?”

Wen Ning returned not long later and locked eyes with Wei Wuxian. He seemed quite startled and that made Wei Wuxian even more curious. Based on Wen Qing’s reaction, it wasn’t anything bad, but still.....

“Wei Wuxian.”

“Yes?”

“Look at your reflection and you’ll understand why A’ Ning and I looked startled.”

Wei Wuxian did.

And he was shocked to see that his eyes have now become a brilliant shade of red. “What the hell?”

“Mmhm.”

“Why are my eyes red???”

“Well, Wei Wuxian, I’m not sure if anyone’s told you, but you’re aware your eyes turn red everytime you use demonic cultivation, right?”

“Umm, no??”

“Well, they do. And considering what your core is, well. I’m not entirely surprised this happened. It was certainly unexpected though.” She finished cleaning up and left Wei Wuxian to just sit and admire his reflection.

...................

A week and some carefully supervised experiments later, Wei Wuxian had full control over his core. It was really just the same thing as how one would normally use a golden core, so it didn’t take long for him to get the hang of it. However, considering his core is the Seal, he also had the ability to control thousands of corpses and this time without any of the side effects.

He also spent time trying to get Suibian to respond to him using resentful energy. Considering that the sword was a spiritual sword, he was unsure of the compatibility but Suibian seemed to adapt well enough and Wei Wuxian was so glad he didn’t have to give up ever using his beloved sword again.

The next step on his agenda was to update the wards. Using the power of the Seal to strengthen it was a walk in the park and Wei Wuxian finally felt like despite how the cultivation world was always on the verge of killing him and the Wens, they’d be safe. The wards would hold out.

He then started absorbing all the deep-seated resentment in the soil to make it more fertile as well as trying to clear the Burial Mounds resentment by listening to the stories of the dead and helping them pass on. He also painstakingly dug up all the strewn about corpses, burned them and held proper funeral rites for them.

The crops flourished, the Wens and him were well-fed, and the Burial Mounds started to lighten up. Wei Wuxian no longer looked to be on the verge of death and he was able to cultivate without any problem.

Like this, time passed peacefully.

..........................

He was invited to his nephew’s one month celebration not long later and Wei Wuxian decided that this would be a good time to show the cultivation world that he truly is the grandmaster of demonic cultivation they all claim him to be. (In truth, he never considered himself to be any sort of grandmaster considering how little he knew of demonic cultivation, but it was different now.)

He told Wen Ning and the other corpses - of the resentful spirits that stayed behind saying they wanted to help him - to watch for any Jins since he trusted they’d take this chance to attack the Burial Mounds.

After he put on a concealing talisman for his eyes - since he knew that his different eye color would make a huge uproar -, he took to the skies with Suibian and nearly teared up. He’d missed flying. He’d missed this feeling. Laughing happily, he circulated the resentful energy in his core and sped up, becoming a black blur as he flew straight over Qiongqi Path.

When he landed at the foot of Koi Tower, invitation in hand, the Jin guards seemed surprised to see him there but had to let him in, not wanting to offend him.

Jiang Yanli-- no, it was Jin Yanli saw him and waved excitedly, beckoning him over. Out of his sight, Jin Guangyao and Jin Guangshan seemed surprised to see him there.

“A’ Xian!”

“Shijie!” The form of address slipped out.

Her face softened. “You made it!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

The whispers of the people around him, wondering why he was there, surrounded him, but he ignored it. “Shijie, here’s my present!”

She looked at the bell with a little bit of wonder. “What does it do?”

“It’ll ensure that high level resentful beings and below won’t be able to move!”

“Oh, A’ Xian! This is perfect.”

“Thank you.” Jin Zixuan said, awkwardly. Wei Wuxian had forgotten he was there.

“No need! If it’s for Shijie’s son, I’d do anything!”

“He’s my son, too.”

Wei Wuxian made a face at that. “Well, yeah.”

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng called and then stopped. “You have your sword?”

Wei Wuxian shrugged, “Yep!” He twirled around. “I started picking Suibian up again! But let’s not focus on that, Jiang Cheng!”

Jiang Cheng seemed hesitant but dropped it readily enough as they started bickering like they used to.

Suddenly--

“Wei Wuxian!” Someone yelled.

Wei Wuxian groaned. Can one day go on without someone yelling my name with hatred??? Like, please??

“Yeeeeeees?” He drawled tiredly.

And some Jin guy that vaguely looked like Jin Zixuan stomped in, looking murderous. “You, remove the curse that you put on me!!”

Murmurs started up all around them.

“Curse?” Wei Wuxian looked confused. “What curse? And who are you anyway? Am I supposed to know you from somewhere??”

“You know who I am!!”

“No, I don’t actually.” Wei Wuxian scratched his head as he walked forward to get a better look. He really didn’t know!

“That’s Jin Zixun.” His shijie said, coming up to him. “From the Phoenix Mountain hunt?” Before Wei Wuxian could say anything, she continued. “The one that was supposed to apologize to you.”

“Hmm?” Wei Wuxian thought really hard. “Oh! I remember you now!” He said to a rather red-faced Jin Zixun. “Sorry about that buddy, but uhh I didn’t curse you! I didn’t even remember you until now!”

“It must be you! It has to be you!!” He screamed and it was really grating on his nerves. “See! Look at this!” He ripped his robes open and everyone gasped at the evidence of the Hundred Holes curse on his torso.

Wei Wuxian whistled. “Well, that’s quite some curse. But I still didn’t do it.” Jin Zixun looked ready to refute so he continued, “Why would I curse you secretly when I usually make a big production of those I kill?”

People had to admit he had a point.

Jin Zixun continued to scream expletives until he finally rushed forward and in a rather bold move, drew his sword, plunging forward. However, in his anger, he completely missed his target and the direction of the blade pointed towards Jin Yanli.

“A’ Jie!!” Jiang Cheng screamed

Wei Wuxian was the closest to her and pushed her back, stepping in front of her taking the sword to his gut.

“A’ XIAN!!!” “WEI WUXIAN!!” “WEI YING!!” Jin Yanli, Jiang Cheng, and Lan Wangji, who was actually there, all screamed.

And Wei Wuxian who had just been disemboweled, grit his teeth and pulled out the sword. Which, in hindsight, was a horrible decision since blood got everywhere. Though not so much when his stomach stitched itself back together. “................Huh.” I knew I regenerated quickly considering how often I got hurt plowing the fields and digging up the corpses to put them to rest, but damn that was quick. Though..... “My robes!” He fake-cried, turning his attention to a stunned Jin Zixun. “You ruined my robes! I just managed to scrounge up enough money to buy this new pair and you ruined them!!!!” He fretted over the large rip over his abdomen. “What am I going to tell Wen Qing? She just told me not to stain them!”

The entire cultivation just stared at him in silent shock, making Wei Wuxian feel a little self-conscious.

“Uhh, what are all of you staring at me for?”

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said with all the patience of an exasperated brother. “Is that the only thing you can ask?!” He glared, signaling for two Jiang disciples to restrain Jin Zixun from anymore stupid ideas he’d like to enact. “When did you cultivate to immortality?”

“I didn’t??? What do you mean??”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan said, checking him over. “Are you alright?”

“Hmm? I’m a little dizzy considering all the blood I’ve lost, but it’s nothing big!” He grinned. It felt nice to have Lan Zhan care for him rather than fight with him.

“Wei Wuxian, stop flirting with Hanguang-Jun and answer the damn question.”

Wei Wuxian turned his attention back to his brother and pouted at him, missing Lan Wangji’s red ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“A’ Xian.” Shijie said and Wei Wuxian abruptly realized her robes had his blood on them.

“Shijie, I’m sorry I got your robes dirty!”

“It’s fine.” She patted him. “But A’ Xian, I know you didn’t pay attention to those lectures, but only immortals can heal from wounds like that that quickly.”

“Really?”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan confirmed.

“Huh. So I’m immortal?”

“Yes.” Jiang Cheng deadpanned. “And you didn’t even notice it. In true Wei Wuxian fashion.”

Lan Zhan frowned then. He had still been checking Wei Wuxian’s pulse. “Wei Ying, what happened to your core?”

“Hmm? .........Oh shit.”

“Why is it covered in resentment?”

“Oh. Umm.” Wei Wuxian really was at a loss for words now. “We can discuss that later?”

“Wei Ying.”

“Aiya, how do you make my name sound like reprimand?”

“Don’t try to deflect the conversation.” Jiang Cheng said, now paying attention.

Wei Wuxian groaned. “Okay. Well, everyone would have found out sooner or later but umm. I might have cultivated to immortality accidentally via demonic cultivation? Haha, ha......”

No one laughed with him. They all looked pretty shaken and Wei Wuxian wanted to laugh at their reaction. He felt pretty detached from it all, to be honest.

“Can we all just forget about this and continue celebrating Jin Ling’s one month celebration?”

And everyone collectively said, “No.”

“Aww.”

___________________

To this day, I’m still unsure of whether it’s Carp Tower or Koi Tower.

#mdzs #wei ying #wei wuxian #wen qing #immortal wei wuxian #fluff #wei wuxian has a new core #but it's not a golden core #wen remnants #jiang cheng #jiang wanyin #jiang yanli #jin zixuan #jin zixun #humor #lan zhan #lan wangji #mild warning for blood

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luxwritesfanfic · 3 years

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Bedside Manners

Sherlock figures out who the father is and the cat has the reader’s tongue. Or, the reader reads auras and Sherlock realizes that maybe The Woman has nothing on the one he already has. Thanks for reading!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You hadn’t seen Sherlock in over a week.

It had all happened so fast you could barely keep up. One moment you’re out on a case with John and the next Sherlock is heavily involved with a woman who you only knew as beautiful, powerful, and way smarter than you.

It was too much to be around him and his constant texts with his very specific ringtone so you had decided in order to save your friendship, you’d mourn your imaginary relationship in peace. He hadn’t called or texted, but since technically this was a case you didn’t expect him to. Usually, you were working the case right alongside him. You honestly hadn’t thought he noticed you were gone.

You were cocooned under the blankets watching old recorded episodes of Maury when your phone went off.

Can I come over? SH

And then, right after:

I’m coming over. John told me it was polite to ask but I know your work schedule and I know you’re home. SH

Your lips gave way to an involuntary smile at that. It shouldn’t surprise you as much as it did that Sherlock knew so much about you because you have spent most of your days together as of late, but it still made you feel special even if it was a little odd. Sherlock Holmes coming to your flat was the last thing you expected tonight and you were nowhere near prepared. Sherlock had never shown any interest in seeing where you lived before and it wasn’t that shocking seeing as you spent more nights on his sofa than you did in your bed. You got up and tried your best to tidy up, put on some better looking pajamas and unlocked the door for him.

The door’s unlocked. Y/I

You got back under the blankets and made sure to leave room for Sherlock to sit, too. It wasn’t long after you sent the text that you heard steps coming towards your bedroom door. You hardly expected him to show up in his pajamas and horrible-- but so cute, you thought-- bedhead but there he was in all of his glory. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days and you weren’t sure you wanted to know what (or who) kept him up all night. His lips were fixed in what you could only describe as a pout and he looked like he was on a mission to decipher you as soon as his knees bumped the bottom of your bed.

Shades of blue and purple complimented his complexion tonight. You tilted your head back to see the colors better and tried to find where the light was stemming from. Before you could even say hello or finish your analysis, Sherlock was on your bed and pulling away at your blanket cocoon to invite himself underneath. You let him, of course, and realized this is the closest you had ever been to him. It felt like it could be a normal night routine and your heart ached.

It was then that it fully hit you how much you missed him. You had hoped that the way he was acting now was a reflection of how much he missed you, too, but getting your hopes up never did bode well for you. Remembering the reason you hadn’t been around all that much hit you like a freight train and you wondered if he saw right through you.

He got settled and you both sat together in silence watching as the program played. You couldn’t imagine that he came all this way just to watch telly with you and your curiosity got the better of you. “Sherlock,” you started, turning your head to face his profile, “why’d you come over here?”

“Do I ask you that when you’re at my house?” He shot back quickly, his eyes never leaving the TV. While that would sound rude to anyone else, you knew that tone. He was anxious.

“You always invite me over. You don’t have to ask.” You countered.

“Hardly my fault you don’t invite me over. That says more about you than it does me.” Sherlock finally turned to face you and you thought he looked like ethereal with the TV light cast on his face. How you loved him so.

You could tell he was avoiding whatever it was that was bothering him and figured if he came here to sit in silence with you, you could do that for him. Turning back to the TV, you brought the blankets up even further around you two.

“He’s the father,” Sherlock said minutes before the talk show host announced it, “and you’ve been... avoiding me.” So he did notice. Just as you were about to deny it, he added, “do not lie to me. We know each other far too well for that.”

You sighed. You really didn’t want to have this conversation with him now, or ever, but here Sherlock was snuggled up in your bed with you secretly worried that you haven’t been around. If you’ve read all the signs up until this point wrong, well, you get an A for trying.

You could feel blue eyes boring into you and he was surely expecting an explanation. “I don’t know. This case has just been a lot on me.”

You didn’t know what else to say. Everything involving Irene Adler was too much for you and you thought if you pretended it wasn’t going on, you’d be able to forget about it and move past it. Of course the “it” you were trying to move past was laying in your bed with you.

You didn’t have to further elaborate because just as Sherlock was about to speak, his phone moaned. Figures.

You couldn’t hide it if you tried. She was texting him late at night and he didn’t even seemed surprised so that meant she had been texting him late at night. Your body slumped immediately and you cursed yourself because you knew Sherlock was watching. You didn’t want him to see you so weak.

“Irene Adler.” He murmured, talking more to himself than you. “You’ve been avoiding me because of Irene Adler. I don’t understand.”

He truly was lost at this point. How Sherlock could be so brilliant but so blind was an anomaly you’d never understand. You looked at him as he tried processing this new piece of information and you could see that it wasn’t adding up for him. He couldn’t possibly understand how hearing the love of your life’s ringtone for another woman being a moan would ruin someone’s mood. It was too far beyond him.

“Sherlock, it’s fine-- it’s not her. It’s not you. I’ve just been tired. It’s me.” You try reasoning with him but it’s no use, he already off on his mental tangent. He sat up farther in bed and brushed his fingers against his lips. Something suddenly dawned on him and he was shoving his phone in your hands.

“Our texts, read them. She keeps asking me to have a night with her and I never reply. I don’t want to. Look.” He’s urging you to look at this point, and you’re unsure of what he’s trying to prove that for. You didn’t think he knew that you’d be jealous, and frankly, you didn’t think he’d care. But it was unlike you to keep him waiting, so you started to read their message thread and he was right. He had literally never responded and at this revelation you looked up at him.

Sherlock was watching for your reaction, that much was clear. Still sat up, he looked down on you as you read and met your eyes with an emotion you couldn’t discern.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Sherlock. You’re a grown man, and you’re allowed to do, and see, whoever you want.” You watched as his aura got stronger as you spoke and you wondered what he was feeling. It looked like it was coming in waves.

“Not at the cost of our relationship. She is not worth a damn to me, especially if it means losing you.” Sherlock was serious now, and that took you by surprise. You had never expected him to say anything like that about you, much less in this context. You started to wonder if all of your hopeless unrequited feelings weren’t so unrequited after all.

Now you were sitting up, and you were sitting knee to knee next to each other. “You won’t lose me. You will never lose me, Sherlock, I need you to understand that.” You matched his tone, speaking in earnest.

“Besides, if I ever did get lost, you would come find me. You wouldn’t be able to resist the game.” You offered him a smile to try and lighten your heavy confession, and when he took it, yours turned into a grin.

You really didn’t know how you got lucky enough to love someone as beautiful as Sherlock. It takes everything in you not to lean over and kiss him stupid.

You don’t push him any farther tonight than what he’s already offered you because it’s more than enough. Instead, you lay back down and pat his pillow for him to lay next to you and start another episode of Maury. He lays back down and he’s the calmest you’ve seen him all night.

“If you guess the outcome of the episode correctly within the first three minutes, I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.” You challenged, looking over at him like he put the stars in the sky himself. And in your world, he did.

“The game is on.”

#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock fanfiction #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock imagine #sherlock #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes fanfiction #luxwrites

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heloisedaphnebrightmore · 3 years

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Deception [Benedict Bridgerton x Reader]

Title: Deception Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Female!Reader Word count: 4.5k Published: 21 March 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Summary: Violet's constant search for a wife for her second eldest son has become too much for Benedict. The only escape he sees is to ask you to pretend to be courting each other. But how long will it work for with your feelings eating you up from the inside. Bingo: [x] This is part of my Make me feel Bingo Card by @girl-next-door-writes

Square filled: Fake dating

Bridgerton Masterlist | Masterlists

Make me feel Bingo Masterlist

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Benedict Bridgerton was a very capable man. He had a tremendous amount of talent in capturing the real beauty of the world in his drawings. He was confident, but still genuinely kind and caring for his loved ones. He also had a rather playful side to him, a somewhat child-like behaviour, one that the ton would not have appreciated in their society, but Benedict had the privilege to show his real personality to those who loved him, ones that never judged him for who he was.

However, there was one person he felt utterly useless around. When it came to you, he turned into an adorable mess, a clumsy one at that, even stuttering on occasions. Should you have known the reason for his unusual behaviour, it would have brought a rather large smile to your face, but Benedict dared not to reveal his feelings for you.

For someone who has been friends for so long, you both seemed to have found it hard to show your true feelings for one another, as though both of you were clueless. For Benedict it seemed you only spared as much attention to him as a friend would, whilst you thought he was merely looking out for you as a brother figure.

You sat in the ballroom, watching as he grimaced at his mother, who might have slightly forced her second oldest child to dance with one of the many stunning unwed ladies. The one he was forced to dance with however seemed to enjoy Benedict's company. He didn't talk, nor did he look at the woman, still she shined brighter than a diamond in his arms, proud to be so close to such a fine man.

Heaving a heavy sigh, you watched as he held his hand firmly on her back, leading her around the dance floor, making her giggle by just being close to her. Your heart ached at the thought of ever having to give up on him, at the thought of seeing him with another, someone he would choose to love, ignoring to see your longing gazes forgotten on him. How could he have seen, he never dared to look when he felt your eyes on him, nor did you dared to look when he forgot his on you.

Standing up from your chair, you walked towards the terrace, needing fresh air, trying to clear your thoughts as the slightly cool, windy weather stroked your cheeks. You knew you shouldn't have thought of him romantically, but you would have been a fool not to notice the handsome and caring man he has grown into. Watching Lady Bridgerton trying to find a wife to her son hurt both emotionally and physically and you couldn't wait for the season to end, to leave the balls and play-pretend behind you, running away from the inevitable.

"Help me!" you heard his desperate voice, but before you could have turned around, you felt his hand lock around your wrist, gently, but in a haste, dragging you after himself.

"Benedict, what are you doing?" you asked in confusion, trying to understand his chaotic behaviour as he pulled you along, passing corridors by corridors in the gigantic mansion.

"My mother," he sighed as he stopped his steps, breathing heavily. "My mother is becoming—" you waited for him to continue, but he seemed to have been stuck in his thoughts.

"Are you alright?" you asked, frowning at his frozen state, as though he couldn't find the words and his thoughts overruled his actions. You watched his hunched back as he fought to get enough air in his lungs, his eyes focused on a certain point on the marble flooring, completely out of the present. "Benedict!" you called him again, this time firmly, attempting to catch his attention.

"I know it!" he exclaimed, making you jump slightly at his unexpected enthusiasm as a rather wide smile spread across his face.

"What do you know exactly?" you inquired.

"It might sound foolish at first and I do not blame you if you think I have lost my mind, but I need your help," he explained, leaving you even more curious.

"What would I need to help you with?" you asked furrowing at the man as if he has forgotten to include you in his grand idea.

"My mother has been adamant in finding me a wife and there is only so much I can do to prevent her from continuing her crusade. I know I shouldn't ask you such a thing, but I can't possibly think of anyone else who I trust enough," he continued in a secretive manner.

"Benedict, you must be clearer. I don't understand what you wish for me to do," you attempted to push him to finally reveal his idea.

"I need my mother to stop searching for a wife and the only way I can do that is if I already found someone I am interested in," he started. "That is where I would need your help, if you agreed. Should you agree to pretend I am courting you, my mother would surely stop this nonsense and leave me alone," for a mere second you felt overwhelmed by the hope of his interest in you, but that was only until your brain processed his words. "Pretend" being the main focus of your attention, shattering the small shimmering light of hope within you.

You took a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself, attempting to hide your disappointment. "Surely you didn't think this through. Your mother isn't a fool, she would see through us immediately. You can't possibly think it's a good idea," you tried to reason with him, but instead of thinking it through again, he quickly shook his head.

"But it is. Think about it. You have said so yourself, you don't want to marry just yet and nor do I. It would be the perfect option for both of us, solving our issues," he added enthusiastically as if his idea was anything, but brilliant. He could clearly see the weary expression across your face as he stepped closer and reached for your hands, engulfing them in his large and warm palms. "We would only have to pretend for a short while, I promise," he tried to reassure you. Whilst you knew it was a foolish idea, the thought of being able to stay close to him even if for a short period of time, seemed to cloud your better judgement.

"For how long?" you asked looking up at him as a mischievous grin spread across his dashingly handsome face. One that you adored so much. "I wouldn't want to be a spinster, Benedict," you sighed heavily.

"I would never let that happen," he shook his head quickly, his previously playful smile long gone from his face. "Let us do it for a few weeks and we will see how my mother reacts. I'm sure if we work well together, you might even catch the attention of some very noble men too," he winked jokingly, trying to lift your dull mood.

You haven't had much time to contemplate, maybe a few seconds until you ran through all the options you have been provided with, which was basically none. You heaved a heavy sigh and shook your head, offering a sceptical look to Benedict. "Fine," you said, earning a surprised expression from him, your answer shocking him for a second, before he wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, twirling you around happily.

"You are my saviour," he chuckled as he hinted a small kiss on your forehead, stopping himself as he realised what he had done. "I apologise, I didn't mean to—"

"I understand. You are simply happy I have agreed to such a scandalous idea," you rolled your eyes, but you couldn't hide the happiness you felt. Even if for a short while, Benedict was to belong to you, and it meant more than you could have possibly expressed. You knew you couldn't have him forever but having him for a couple of weeks made you feel like the happiest person alive.

"I owe you! I didn't think you would agree," he grinned happily, a childish warmness radiating from his stance as though he had won a grand prize.

"I still don't understand why I did. Surely, I'm a fool," you added quickly with a silent chuckle.

"We both are," he replied as he started leading you back to the ballroom with your arm linked around his. His gaze focused on the way ahead, but your eyes were rather resting on his attractive features. He was a stunning man, and you were sure if he had turned to look at you, he would have seen the amount of love you were harbouring for him. But as many times before, no one of you has ever turned.

Weeks passed by and if anyone, Violet Bridgerton was the happiest person to see Benedict growing closer to the woman, you, she had envisioned beside her second eldest son. She has made it very clear that a wedding should soon be happening, wanting nothing but a little baby in her arms. You never wanted to crash her dreams but hearing her talking about a future between you and Benedict was beyond painful. The thought of you waking up beside Benedict, his arm resting across your waist, his neck hidden in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin made your heart ache, knowing it was impossible.

You stood in Somerset House, one arm hooked around Benedict's as he watched the paintings, his face focused on one particular art with dark colours and shadings, slightly depressing as if the artist tried to capture a horrible emotion. Art was always something that you found beautiful, but never really understood. When Benedict talked about the meaning behind each piece with a childish happiness across his face, it made you feel content. Although you didn't understand much of what he was saying, the adorable expression he wore was worth each and every moment you spent listening to him.

Looking at his handsome features as they relaxed into a content smile, made you mirror his expression. You couldn't look at him and not smile. As though his mere presence made you feel at ease.

"I feel your eyes on me," he chuckled with a mischievous smile, knowing that you have indeed been staring at him for the longest time.

"I'm sorry," you quickly turned away, feeling your cheeks and ears heat up in embarrassment. "I couldn't stop watching you. You were really focused on that painting and it seemed as though you were here physically, but not mentally. You unintentionally make this face when you enjoy a painting," you smiled shyly.

"A face?" he furrowed, not knowing of his own reaction.

"Yes, as if you were completely captured by the painting. You have a certain content smile across your face and even forget to blink at times," you giggled, placing your hand in front of your mouth, remembering his facial expression.

"Don't hide your smile," he said as he reached for your wrist and gently wrapped his fingers around your arm, pulling your hand away from your lips. "You are even more beautiful when you smile," for a second his words made you hope, as though he meant more than he let on. His eyes seemed as if they could see through you, reading each and every single thought that crossed your mind. For the shortest of time, it felt your feelings weren't as unrequited as you thought. However, you quickly had to remind yourself that your imagination was playing a painful game with you, one that would surely end in a heartbreak.

You quickly turned away, trying to shake those foolish thoughts away, before you decided to dwell on them any longer. Clearing your thoughts, you turned back to him with a phony smile across your face, biting your bottom lip to calm yourself. But his deep frown left you confused. "Are you okay?" you questioned as he tilted his head as if he was studying your face.

"You were biting your lips again," he replied. "You do that when you are nervous or feeling uncomfortable," he added, stunning you. Biting your lips was indeed a nervous habit of yours, one that you couldn't stop as it made you feel slightly at ease when you felt as if even your own thoughts betrayed you. You never thought Benedict even realised those irrelevant, minor details.

"I'm fine, Benedict," you tried to reassure him with a smile that you wore confidently but could not fool Benedict.

"Should you feel the need to talk, I'm here," he said, drawing tiny circles on the back of your arm that he was still securely holding onto, reassuring you that he was by your side whenever you were in need of him.

As happy as it made you, you couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment as you thought about the heartbreak when he would finally want to end your foolish little game and find himself a wife that he could cherish forever, leaving you with the most horrible heartache one could cause.

You knew it was inevitable, you knew it would kill you, but you loved Benedict and you would have never forced him to stay beside you for any longer than he wanted to. You were ready to give him up, to be happy even if with someone else. The thought of letting him go hurt, but you weren't sure of your own strength either. Thinking about how long you could stay beside him pretending to be a mere friend left you with just as much pain, if not more. But you were ready to sacrifice your own happiness even if to be able to spend one more second with him.

Days passed by since your slightly awkward encounter in Somerset House. You have pretended to be a couple so in love that you couldn't possibly stay away from each other. Lady Whistledown didn't miss to write a paragraph or two about the two of you, already planning your wedding, one that you found slightly excessive, but dared not to mention to keep your act believable.

As much as you enjoyed the first few weeks of your play-pretend, it was hard to keep it up for long. You loved every minute you spent with Benedict, but the longer you were beside him, the more pain you felt. You wished to make him happy, to continue your act, but you also knew that it wasn't forever, and that tiny little thought suffocated you.

You sat on a bench in the park, right after promenading with Benedict. He joined his brothers whilst your maid brought you a glass of water to refresh yourself. You watched as Benedict laughed with his brothers, a wide, adorable and carefree smile sat across his face. Weeks ago, you would have smiled at his happiness, but then and there, sitting on the bench, watching his happy form, you felt miserable. Each time you looked at him, your stomach jumped nervously, your breath caught in your lungs as he touched your arm. These tiny little details meant nothing to him, but for you they meant the world. He couldn't have known the effects his advances left on you, he couldn't have predicted to hurt you unintentionally, but in the end, he unknowingly caused you pain.

Standing up from the bench, you started walking towards the Bridgerton brothers. Heaving a heavy sight, you lifted your arm and tapped Benedict's shoulder lightly, trying to catch his attention. He turned around with a wide smile, looking at you curiously. However, your face must have forgotten to oblige as his smile quickly disappeared and concern took over him.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he nodded to his brothers and reached for your hand, placing it on his arm, leading you away from his family.

"I must talk to you," you started, your voice unusually grim.

"Go ahead. You are worrying me," he added impatiently. Trying to collect your thoughts, you stopped, halting the man beside you whose worried eyes didn't seem to want to leave you for a mere second. "Talk to me," he attempted to reassure you.

"I am really sorry, but I can't possibly do this anymore," your words earned a confused frown from Benedict, before he finally understood what you meant. "I know I promised to help you and I wish I could have done it longer, but I honestly can't do this anymore," you added as you fought against your tears, trying to keep them in place for as long as you could. You couldn't let yourself cry in front of so many people, you couldn't let that happen. Benedict straightened himself in front of you, trying to hide your face from the curious eyes.

"I understand. I am sorry for forcing you to do this. I never thought it could be this hard on you. I would never hurt you, you know that, right?" he asked, trying to contain himself from wrapping his arms around you, fidgeting with his hands beside his thighs.

"I know and you didn't hurt me, it's not your fault. It has just become rather difficult recently and I don't think I'm capable of pretending anymore," you tried to reassure him, making him feel less guilty. "I'm still your friend and I will always be your friend," you added with a phoney smile. Your own words were a lie. You didn't know how long you could pretend to be his friend, but you knew he needed to hear that, he needed not to blame himself. "I will be going home now, but surely I will see you later," you smiled up at him as you curtsied and nodded towards your maid, ready to head home, completely oblivious to the pained gaze he was watching your slowly disappearing form with.

Whilst you sat in your carriage, letting your tears finally run down your cheeks, leaning on your maid's shoulder, Benedict stood confused between Colin and Anthony, his eyes fixed on the ground, his thoughts filled with you only.

"Brother?" Colin called for him with concern in his eyes. It was unusual to see his brother unresponsive, without a playful smile. "Are you alright?" he asked, earning a frown from Benedict.

"I shouldn't have dragged her into this," he replied, but his words were directed more to himself than his brothers.

"What do you mean?" Anthony asked, seemingly more interested in their conversation.

"It was all a lie," Benedict replied, his gaze still fixed on the carefully cut grass.

"What was a lie?" the eldest Bridgerton brother asked again.

"All along we were pretending to be courting, so mother would stop trying to force me to marry," he scoffed, finally understanding the weight of his idea. "She said she can't do this anymore. That it was too painful to bear," he shook his head, guilt overcoming him.

"You really are a fool," Anthony replied with a sceptical look across his face, earning a confused look from both Colin and Benedict.

"How do you mean? Is it because we have been pretending?" Benedict questioned his brother. "I know it was foolish, but she agreed, I didn't know it would be particularly hard on her," he added with a deep frown.

"Brother, can you not see the way she looks at you? Always trying to make you feel happy, bringing a smile to your face even when she, herself is struggling to do so? Are you really that blind?" Anthony raised a questioning brow, as though he couldn't believe how oblivious his brother was towards your feelings.

"Should I understand?" he asked tilting his head innocently, searching for the right explanation. "We have been friends from a very young age, I am certain we have always tried to make each other smile in a difficult situation," he added, earning an eye roll from the eldest Bridgerton brother, ignoring his manners.

"When you said you were courting her, I thought you finally realised that you weren't the only one with feelings beyond friendship. However, after hearing about this foolish idea of yours, forcing a lady to pretend to love you, when in fact she has feelings for you is beyond stupid, brother, and I'm quite disappointed in you for not realising it yourself," he shook his head disapprovingly.

"Are you telling me she has feelings for me?" Benedict asked in disbelief, his brother's words lighting a weak hope within him.

"Indeed, took you long enough to understand," he scoffed.

"I have to talk to her," Benedict added quickly, heading towards the carriages in haste, carefully planning all he needed to tell you.

The ride didn't take long, 20 minutes at most, before he stood in front of your house, his hands shaking slightly, nervousness running through his whole being. Knocking on the door, a maid opened it for him, asking him to wait to announce his arrival to you.

You laid on your bed, cheeks swollen from crying, bottom lip red as a result of the constant biting of your nervous state. A knock on your door brought you out of your misery as your maid walked into the room.

"Mr. Bridgerton is here to see you," she said with a saddened tone, knowing of the arrangement between the two of you. Your eyes widened in surprise, you weren't ready to see him, especially not in your current, heartbroken state. "Would you like me to ask him to leave?" she questioned, looking at the panicked expression across your face.

"No, it's fine. Please take him to the drawing room," you instructed her and headed to the bathroom to make yourself presentable. Your eyes were bloodshot, your face was slightly swollen, and your clothes were beyond wrinkled. Attempting to straighten your dress, you stroked the material over and over again, but it didn't seem to work, nor did the cold water you washed your face with to remove the evidence of your miserable state. At last, you gave up and walked to the drawing room, knowing you wouldn't be able to do anything else with your appearance.

"We have just parted, Benedict," you said to the man as you stepped inside the room and took a seat across the sofa he occupied.

"I needed to see you," he replied, standing up from his place and taking a seat beside you. "I—, I talked to my brothers after you left," he started, stammering over his words, something he only did in his nervous state. "I am a fool and there is no excuse for that. I can't possibly imagine how hard it must have been for you to pretend—"

"I have told you already, I am completely fine," you tried to reassure him with a faux smile, one that this time Benedict didn't believe to be genuine.

"But are you?" he asked, earning a confused frown from you. "Do you know why I thought this foolish idea to be brilliant in the first place?" he raised a questioning brow, but instead of replying you shook your head. "I wanted to be closer to you. I merely thought it would be my chance to spend more time with you. Surely, I had no intention to marry anyone, and I wished my mother to stop, but my primary concern was you. I wanted to be near you at all times, but I couldn't possibly tell you how I felt, knowing you would only reject me," you couldn't control the surprise sitting across your face, your lips parted in shock, his words seemingly part of your most precious dreams. It seemed surreal.

"You are confusing me, Benedict," you spoke up, trying not to hope once again to then fall painfully.

"I'm saying I love you. I have loved you for so long, I can't remember when it started. I never imagined my feelings could be returned and I turned to foolish ideas to be beside you. I needed my brothers to open my eyes and scold me for being childish, for making me hope that I might have your heart even if only half as much as you have mine," he reached for you hand, gently squeezing it in his hold, reassuring you that he meant every single word of his.

"I love you," you blurted out, astonished by his speech, your own words surprising you.

"You do?" he asked, afraid to believe the words he has longed to hear from you.

"I do," you nodded, this time with more confidence, earning a wholehearted smile from Benedict as he leaned closer and wrapped his arms around you, embracing you in his arms.

"I made you cry, didn't I?" he asked as he pulled away slightly, enough for him to be able to look in your eyes as he placed his hands on your cheeks.

"It wasn't you. I was emotional, because I wasn't sure how long I would be able to stay beside you as a friend before it became too much to handle," you giggled awkwardly, feeling as if you have said too much.

"It was still my fault. I didn't consider your feelings," he shook his head, disapproving of his own actions. The tip of his thumb gently brushed across your bottom lip, leaving you with a ticklish feeling. "Have you been biting your lips again?" he asked as his eyes focused on your mouth. His attentiveness, his attention to detail and his closeness made you swallow nervously.

"I might have," you whispered, not daring to raise your voice any louder. Feeling his breath on your lips, the proximity between your faces, his warm palms on your cheeks made you feel intoxicated.

"You shouldn't do that. From now on talk to me when something bothers you," he spoke in a low tone, his voice soothing, making you feel safe. "You are doing it again," he chuckled, his eyes completely captured by the way your teeth bit on your lip, but this time it wasn't nervousness, but excitement. His closeness affected every tiny part of your body. "It really makes me want to kiss you," he breathed, completely mesmerised by your lips, as if an invisible force was pulling him towards you. You felt your heart beating at a dangerous pace, almost as if threatening to escape your chest and you could swear Benedict heard it just as well.

"Hmm," you hummed in a reply, incapable of creating a coherent sentence, before closing the gap between the two of you, a certain confidence rush taking over your actions. Instead of the surprised reaction you expected from Benedict, a playful chuckle left his lungs.

"Impatient, it seems," he added, before he returned your kiss, pulling you closer to himself, enjoying the feeling of your body in his embrace. He has imagined over and over again how it could feel to kiss you, to hold you, but none of those made-up scenarios could ever compete against the reality and the content it filled him with. "I wish to genuinely court you this time," he added as he pulled away from you.

"I very much hope so," you giggled happily, earning a playful eye roll from Benedict, before he captured your lips once again, wrapping his arms around you securely.

Notes: If you enjoyed reading this little piece, please don’t forget to leave a like, comment and/or reblog. Your opinion matters and gives us motivation. Thank you ^^

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dothwrites · 3 years

Text

15.20 coda--at the end of the world

author’s note: while i am still reeling from the finale, this was my way of making some kind of personal peace with it. don’t mistake this for me agreeing with the choices made <3

---

“I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”--Madeline Miller

---

Castiel opens his eyes.

All around him is green. A moment later, he hears the soft sound of birds chirping in the background; from further away, the faint sounds of children laughing. The air is ripe with the smell of growth, damp in the air and life underneath his fingers.

He sits up. The sky is a perfect shade of blue, the kind found only in poet’s and painters imaginations. A few feet away, the shrubs grow, flowers spilling over themselves in their enthusiasm to be born. Everything is a riot of life and color.

“Cas.”

Castiel’s heart thumps against his ribs. He knows that voice.

He whirls around, already knowing who he’ll find. Several feet away, Jack waits, one hand raised in a short wave.

Castiel finds himself up on his feet, and within two short steps, he’s enfolded Jack in his arms. For a moment, he forgets about everything which came before, and allows himself this sheer comfort. If nothing else remains, then Jack is here.

Jack hugs him back, twice as fiercely, before they separate. Castiel holds him at arm’s length, trying to find injuries or hurt on him, but there’s nothing. In fact, it’s almost as if...

“Jack,” he says slowly, his arm falling away from Jack’s shoulder, “what happened?”

Jack smiles, a little lopsided, but still his boy.

“Well,” he says, gesturing towards a bench, “It’s kind of a long story.

---

For all that Jack said it was a long story, it ends up being remarkably quick in the telling. Castiel listens, sometimes grieving and sometimes proud, as he hears of how Sam, Dean, and Jack ultimately defeated Chuck. His heart grows in his chest as Jack recounts Dean’s words.

That’s not who I am.

A small part of him wishes that he could be there to see it, but he tucks that part of himself away. He said his piece. He relieved the burden which has been pressing down on his shoulders now for years. In his lifetime, it was nothing more than a blip on the map, but those years have made all the difference in the world to him. Finally, he can look back on them now without regrets.

“And so, I came here,” Jack finally says, shifting a little on the bench. He looks oddly guilty, like the times Castiel would find him sneaking snacks back into his room. “I thought...”

“What?’ Castiel prompts, after a few moments when it becomes clear that Jack has no interest in speaking.

“Sam and Dean don’t really need me anymore. I mean, I know that they want me, but the world is bigger now. And the people up here need me too.”

It’s then that Castiel looks around, scrutinizing his environment more closely. The nagging sense of familiarity hits and then he wonders how he didn’t see it before. His favorite Heaven, caught in an eternal Tuesday afternoon.

“It’s not right,” Jack says, his forehead wrinkled into an earnest expression of worry. “The people here are stuck. While I was on earth, we all talked about free will, but the people here don’t have it. They’re stuck forever in an endless loop of memories, and it’s all just...empty.”

Jack looks at Castiel, and Castiel doesn’t see God. He doesn’t see a divine being, or Lucifer’s son, or even an angelic being. He just sees his boy, lost and confused, but still so pure, still wanting to do the right thing, no matter what.

“Cas?” Jack asks. “Will you help me?”

---

Rebuilding Heaven is slow work, but time doesn’t really mean anything here. It’s delicate to rebuild the walls separating billions of souls so that nothing collapses. Castiel works alongside Jack, making suggestions as his mind trips along to potential problems.

Though it’s never said aloud, Castiel knows why Jack is working tirelessly. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, the knowledge sits that Sam and Dean are going to die. One day, they will pass from the earth, and come to Heaven, and on that day, Castiel wants everything to be perfect for them. He wants to show them a true paradise, a place without walls or barriers, a place where emotion is genuine and not just a manufactured memory. Rebuilding Heaven is his last chore, the last of his penance to be performed.

He does make one stop, however.

When he walks in the door, Kelly’s head lifts up from the book she’s flipping through. Her smile is a balm to the hurt places inside him, the ones that he likes to pretend don’t exist, because he was happy, yes? That was the whole point of everything, was to be happy. “Hey, Cas,” she greets him, shifting over and patting the couch next to her. “I was wondering when you’d be by.”

“I’ve been busy,” Cas says, settling down on the cushions. In Heaven, his body is easier than it was on earth, more flexible, and he wonders if that’s because after all these years, he’s finally returned to where he was supposed to belong, or if it’s because he no longer has the shadow of his love pressing down on his shoulders.

“Jack told me. Rebuilding Heaven? Sounds ambitious.”

“The old Heaven was...not ideal,” Castiel says. “I thought it was at the beginning: each soul gets a paradise tailor made to them. But then, I realized that human life is meaningless without the connections we form along the way. Each soul, stuck forever in its own loop is...”

“It’s lonely,” Kelly says, reaching out and squeezing his hand. Castiel returns the gesture, grateful for the connection. Her eyes are kind as she moves closer to him, her shoulder pressing into his.

“So what happened?”

---

In their time together, Castiel never told Kelly about Dean, at least not explicitly. But she had a brilliant mind and was able to see the threads of his longing woven into everything he did. Relating the story to her comes easily, and he tells her things which he would never tell Jack.

“And I was happy,” Castiel says at the end. “I was.”

“You trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Neither,” Castiel replies, bristling slightly. It was true that he might have been happier--he had performed a willful obfuscation of the original terms--but that doesn’t negate what he felt in that moment. The sheer love, the overwhelming gratitude, the incandescent happiness of being able, one last time, to proclaim to the world Dean Winchester is Saved.

Everything else is unimportant when viewed through those lenses.

“Why haven’t you gone to see him?” Kelly was always good at cutting to the heart of the problem.

“Dean has his life on earth. I have my work here in Heaven. I don’t...” Because, of course, he’s asked himself the same question many times. Why doesn’t he go find Dean and tell him of one last, improbable miracle?

“Cas, let me tell you: I didn’t know Dean all that well, but I didn’t need to if I wanted to know how he felt about you. It was all over his face.” Kelly turns to face him, suddenly serious. “Cas, you should go to him. At least allow him to speak his side. If he doesn’t feel the same way, then you’ll know. And if he does...”

Castiel shakes his head. Happiness in the being is what he’s told himself ever since he awoke to find himself in Heaven. Happiness doesn’t come from the having. He will live with himself and find contentment in the works which he does.

Kelly looks sympathetic, but doesn’t say anything as he walks out.

There’s work to be done.

---

Castiel sighs with satisfaction as he walks through Heaven. Slowly, the walls are coming down. Souls are mingling and interacting. There’s joy in the once quiet halls, the giddiness which comes from freedom after too long without. He moves through the different realms, silent as a thought, and goes unnoticed, at least until a gruff voice catches his attention.

“What the hell are you doing here, boy?”

A wide grin splits Castiel’s face. Only Bobby Singer would think to call an angel ‘boy’. He walks towards the old hunter, who looks the same now as he did in life, and is surprised when Bobby sweeps him up in a hug which would threaten to crack his ribs, were he human.

“You did good,” Bobby whispers, his voice thick in Castiel’s ear. “I heard what you and that boy Jack did, and you did real good.”

It means more than he would have thought, to have Bobby’s approval. After a moment’s pause, he hugs Bobby back.

When Bobby pulls away, he quickly knuckles his eyes, before clearing his throat. “So, you fixed Heaven on top of everything else? What do you have planned next?”

Castiel’s shoulders lift in a shrug. “There’s always work to be done maintaining Heaven. We don’t know what, if any, effects the restructuring will bring, so I suppose I will be traveling and making sure that everything is stable.”

“If that ain’t a load of shit,” Bobby scoffs. “From what I’ve seen, your boy has enough power in his pinky finger to do just about whatever he wants. Stop making excuses and get your feathery ass back down there.”

Castiel swallows. “It’s not quite as simple as that. Sam and Dean have a chance to live their lives, the way that they would wish for them to be lived. It’s not fair of me to intrude.”

“Now, if that isn’t the biggest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” Bobby’s mouth twists underneath his beard. “Only one thing keeping you from going back down to see those boys, and it sure as hell ain’t concern for Heaven or some BS notion that they’re better off without you.” Castiel opens his mouth, but Bobby speaks over him. “And don’t tell me that you’re just waiting either. Something I learned a long time ago--you never have as much time as you think you do.”

Castiel closes his mouth and says nothing.

---

Bobby is wrong.

There’s still time. He doesn’t have to go yet. There’s still work to be done in Heaven, souls to be guided, walls to be broken. Jack still needs him.

There’s still time.

There’s still time, until there isn’t.

---

Castiel feels it before he knows what’s happening. It’s a rift, a tear, something which ripples throughout the universe and comes to hit him in the chest. He staggers backward, hand clutching at his shirt.

His first thought is that Heaven is under attack, but a second’s observation tells him that’s not the case. Everything is fine. The fabric of Heaven remains secure, the souls are unbothered. It’s only him that feels the blow.

With a flutter of wings, Jack appears beside him. His face is a mask of distress, tears welling in his eyes. “Cas,” he cries, clenching his hands into fists at his side. “Cas, it’s--”

“Dean,” Castiel says, finally understanding the bolt of pain which ripped through him.

It was too soon. He doesn’t know how much time has passed on earth, but he knows it was too soon.

It’s always too soon.

“Cas, what do I... I can heal him. I can go and heal him now. I can save him. I can...” Jack trails off, his feet still pacing in desperate circles. “What do I do?”

It’s a child’s question, and Castiel has no answer.

“Free will,” is all he says. “Whatever you do...It’s your decision.”

---

Castiel feels when Dean Winchester’s soul enters Heaven. He held that soul within his grace, he snatched it away from the filth and flames of Hell. He cradled that soul while he was reassembling Dean’s body, pulling atoms out of air to create skin, flesh, and bone. He would know that soul at the end of everything, and he knows it here, when it settles into the place which was created for him.

It was as perfect as Castiel could make it; down to the Impala sitting in the Roadhouse’s parking lot. He created every inch of Dean’s Heaven in homage, in apology.

It wasn’t fair. Dean deserved to live to a ripe old age. He deserved to enjoy the world for which he fought so hard. He should have grown old, should have found peace, should have discovered the foibles and pitfalls of normal, human existence. Dean worked too hard, for too long, and he deserved a kinder, softer fate. Instead, he’s here, and all Castiel can do for him is to craft his Heaven with painstaking care.

He pauses on the boundaries of Dean’s Heaven. Every fiber of him yearns to go forward, to rejoice in Dean’s presence, to see that beloved face again. He wants it so badly he can almost taste it, leather and gasoline and whiskey mingling together until he’s back in the bunker, listening to the sounds of his family--

Castiel takes a step away from the border. First one, then another. After three steps, it becomes easier.

Dean has his paradise, and Castiel won’t interfere.

---

Heaven moves as it always does, timeless and changeless. There is no turn of the earth to mark the passage of time. Instead, it moves like the ocean, rolling waves which are always moving and yet the surface remains the same. Castiel travels through various Heavens, observing the newly liberated souls, and taking his peace from their newfound enjoyment. It eases something within him to see his former home restored, better than it ever was before.

He’s inspecting a field of sunflowers when the sound of a car door closing surprises him. Immediately, his heart lurches in his chest, dipping down to somewhere around his knees before hurtling upwards to lodge in his throat. He swallows before he turns around.

Dean Winchester is there.

Castiel’s heart, always out of his control, performs a quick dance against the confines of his ribs. Dean looks...He looks whole and wonderful, vibrant and alive. The lines around his eyes look as though they’ve been carved through laughter instead of despair. His shoulders sit easier, no longer pressed down with the burden of the entire world.

Castiel licks his lips. “Hello, Dean,” he finally says, when it becomes obvious that Dean has no intention of making the first move.

Dean’s lips quirk up in a grin. “Cas,” he says, not moving from where he’s leaning up against the frame of the Impala. “You’re a hard guy to track down.”

Layers upon layers of subtext are placed within the seemingly simple sentence. Castiel remembers Purgatory as well as anything else, the desperate year of keeping one step ahead of Leviathans while close enough to Dean to protect him if need be.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says faintly. “I wasn’t aware anyone was looking.”

Dean’s face performs a series of interesting maneuvers, dropping and rising and twisting. It finally settles into an expression like stone as he pushes off the car and storms towards him. Castiel waits, caught up in breathless anticipation of the oncoming storm.

“Look,” Dean growls, reaching out and snagging the lapel of his coat, almost like he wants to ensure that Castiel doesn’t escape. Castiel doesn’t even dream of it; there’s no other place he’d rather be than caught in Dean’s grip. “There was a lot of shit going on at the time, so I didn’t get to say it then, but there’s nothing happening now, so you are going to sit here and listen, all right?”

Castiel nods, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice. “I can’t believe you didn’t...” He runs the hand which isn’t still wrapped up in Castiel’s coat over his face. “You idiot,” he finally breathes. “A couple of dumbasses. You’ve had me, Cas. All along, you’ve had me.”

Castiel looks up at Dean in sharp surprise. When he meets Dean’s eyes, there’s nothing but the infinite compassion which he fell in love with. “You... You’re this force of nature that came bursting into my life. All this time, you’ve always been there, always helping, and I took that for granted, I know I did. But, god, Cas, I should have told you every day how thankful I was to have you there with us. I should have let you know what a miracle you are. You never gave up on me, not once, not even when I deserved it.”

Castiel’s breath hitches in his chest as Dean lets go of his coat. Slowly, with a shaking hand, he reaches up to cup Castiel’s cheek. “You never stopped believing. You never stopped trying. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Dean.” The name bursts out of Castiel’s chest in a harsh breath. Dean’s words are working their way underneath his skin, to the point where his body can’t contain them.

“Cas.” Dean gently angles his face up so that there’s no escape when he says, “I love you.”

“I’m sorry,” explodes from Castiel’s chest, the helplessness and grief he felt when he felt Dean’s soul leaving earth erupting in a single quick sob. “Dean, I’m so sorry, I should have been there, I should have done something, I never should have left you alone--”

“Cas.” Dean’s fingers press into his cheek, not hard, but firmly enough to get his attention. “It sucks, all right? There was so much I wanted...” The corner of his mouth drops. “I was going to get you out, and you, me, and Sam were going to head to the beach. I was going to get you drinking out of a coconut, maybe a Hawaiian shirt. We were going to do Christmas, I was going to take you to a theme park and see if you puked on roller coasters. I wanted...” For a moment, grief so overwhelming that it can’t be touched crosses Dean’s face, but then, with effort, he pushes it away. “There’s so much that I wanted, but it’s done now. And besides, you’ve been busy.” Dean raises his eyebrows. The grin on his face invites Cas to smile as well. “Reforming Heaven?”

“I wanted...There was so much I did wrong here. I thought if I could make it right, that maybe...” Castiel leans his cheek into Dean’s hand. “I wanted it to be perfect for you. You weren’t supposed to be here yet.”

“I know. I know. And it’s not okay, but you’re here, all right? Mom’s here, Bobby’s here, Charlie, and Jess, and Kevin, and Ellen and Jo...They’re all here, and thanks to you, I’m going to see them. You did that, Cas.”

“Jack did most of the work--” Castiel begins, but he’s cut off by the soft press of Dean’s lips against his.

Sparks burst in his chest as Dean’s hand slides around to the back of his neck to cradle his head. His other arm slides around his waist, and suddenly, Castiel is held by Dean Winchester, by this miracle of a man. Dean’s kisses consume him, until he’s no longer Castiel. Instead, he’s heat, and friction, and more.

“You and me,” Dean pants against his lips, pulling away just far enough to run his nose along Castiel’s. “We’ve got time now, Cas, we’ve got so much time. I’m going to take you apart, going to show you how much I love you, every single day. I’m going to show you everything.”

Castiel is drowning in the outpouring of Dean’s devotion. He’s helpless in the riptides. All he can do to save himself is kiss Dean again, tasting salt on their lips from where their tears trace down to their lips. Castiel cries partly for Dean’s missed opportunities and the fact that life is so cruel. But he also cries from happiness. Dean is right. Here, they have all the time they could ever want. There’s time to explore every feeling and desire, time for them to become themselves, without the pressure of the world around them.

They part. Somehow, Castiel’s hands have found their way onto Dean’s waist. One of his thumbs is braver than the rest of his whole body, as it sneaks underneath Dean’s shirt to touch bare skin. Dean grins at him.

“Hey, Cas,” he asks, pressing his forehead to Castiel’s. “Do you want to take a drive?”

Their fingers entwine as they walk towards the Impala. Castiel’s chest feels light, like Dean’s hand is the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. “I’m still trying to figure out the roads here. It felt like I was driving around for forty years to try and find you.”

They settle into the Impala, where they’ve been so many times before, but now Castiel can enjoy every squeak of the leather seats. He can revel in the imperfections of the car because of the perfection that’s next to him. Dean Winchester reaches across the seat and takes his hand, as easy as breathing.

“I can’t wait to show Sam everything,” Dean says, as he guides the Impala back onto a road which Castiel is almost certain wasn’t there when he arrived. “I, uh...Hope it takes him a while to get here. But. Yeah, when he gets here, I can’t wait to show him everything.”

“We’ll see it all together,” Castiel finally says. It’s all he can say, his heart too busy dancing in his chest.

They have all the time they want.

---

Time slips and passes and stops. In between his time with Dean, Jack, and the rest of the residents of Heaven, and performing maintenance throughout Heaven, Castiel watches the earth. He sees those left behind grow older. Claire and Kaia start a family, Claire finally having set aside the kernel of anger in her heart. Castiel watches Sam and Eileen’s family grow, smiling when Sam finally goes back to law school and gets his degree. He spends the rest of his career fighting for justice for children lost in the system, those who can’t fight for themselves. Saving people, hunting things, indeed.

Several times, Castiel thinks about going to visit Sam, if only to assuage the grief he can still see the man carrying, but each time he stops. It hurts, but grief is a facet of life. This grief is natural. It comes honestly. It’s not manipulated by a sadistic higher being for a voyeristic pleasure.

Eileen comes out to the Impala and brings Sam back into the house with gentle touches. Throughout the years, she’s learned how to navigate Sam’s moods, and knows how to bring him back. They lay in bed, foreheads pressed together, Eileen’s body curved into Sam’s.

“I just,” Sam begins, twisting slightly so Eileen can read his lips, “I just miss him so much sometimes.”

“I know,” Eileen answers. It’s all she needs to say.

After a while, Sam gently wraps his fingers around Eileen’s wrist, partly for comfort, partly to grab her attention. “Dean’s baseball game is next weekend. Do we know yet if it’s going to conflict with Beth’s dance rehearsal?”

“It shouldn’t,” Eileen answers, and with that, the normal routine of their life is reestablished. The grief is always present, but it’s part of the human condition.

Castiel turns his eyes back to Heaven, where Dean waits for him. Despite it being Heaven, he insists on making repairs to Bobby’s house as well as the Roadhouse, even when Castiel reminds him, for the hundredth time, that if he truly wanted to, he could fix these imperfections with a thought.

“Sometimes, you just have to do things the hard way,” he answers, through a mouthful of nails.

Castiel rolls his eyes and goes to help him.

---

The morning dawns, quiet and gentle. The dawn is silvery-gold as it stretches across the grass leading up to the cabin. In the distance, the birds start singing. Castiel can smell the fresh scents of spring, dew clinging to the grass, the clean, bright potential in the air. His toes stick out from underneath the comforter, but a quick flip of his foot flicks the corner of the blanket back into place.

A warm, heavy arm winds over his waist. “Babe, it’s too early,” Dean mumbles into the nape of his neck. “Go back to sleep.”

Castiel strokes over the back of Dean’s hand. The words are tempting, but something has woken him up, and now that it has, he wants to know what it is. He props himself up on his elbows, ignoring the chill of the air as it bites at his bare skin, and concentrates. After a second, he startles.

“Dean,” he says.

Though he doesn’t put urgency or fear into his voice, something about his tone makes Dean open his eyes, suddenly alert. Castiel looks at him, and Dean rolls over onto his side. After their time together, they’ve mastered the art of the wordless conversation, much to the chagrin of Charlie, Kevin, and anyone within ten miles of them, at least according to Jo.

“It’s time?” Dean asks. He rolls closer to Castiel, stealing his warmth, as he trails his fingers over Castiel’s ribs.

“Yes,” Castiel answers, taking Dean’s hand in his and pressing kisses to each of Dean’s fingertips. “Won’t be long now.”

Dean’s fingers slide across his cheek before he curls his fingers around the bolt of Castiel’s jaw, pulling him down. Their lips meet in a chaste kiss which still manages to make fireworks explode in the pit of Castiel’s belly. He doesn’t think the thrill of kissing Dean will ever fade. Castiel doesn’t want it to.

“I should get going,” Dean murmurs, rubbing against the bristles on Castiel’s cheek. “You want to come along?”

Castiel relaxes back into the mattress, only reluctantly parting from Dean. “No, you go. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“I know.” Dean slides out of bed, and Castiel takes a moment to appreciate the play of his muscles underneath fair skin. He lets out a small, disappointed noise when Dean slides into a pair of jeans and a jacket, causing Dean to roll his eyes at him over his shoulders. “Yeah, keep it in your pants. Definitely wearing clothes to this particular meeting.”

“Shame,” Castiel murmurs, waggling his eyebrows.

“Shameless,” Dean corrects, leaning over the mattress to kiss Castiel once more, short and sweet. “We’ll be back before too long.” Another kiss to Castiel’s forehead, and then Dean murmurs, “I love you,” into his hair.

Castiel smiles. Much like kissing Dean, hearing those words will never grow old to him. He’ll revel in them, roll in the simple syllables, allow them to sink into him, with the simple truth that Jack tells him, that Charlie tells him, that Kelly tells him, that even Bobby and Ellen and Jo tell him.

You are valued. You are loved.

He smiles at Dean Winchester, this impossible, miracle of a man. “I love you too,” he replies.

Dean out of the bedroom. The door to the cabin opens and closes. Castiel rolls over onto his back and stretches, staring up at the ceiling.

There’s work to be done today. He’ll need to travel through Heaven, informing the various interested parties that Sam Winchester has arrived. There will be a party tonight at the Roadhouse, a celebration instead of mourning. Then he and Dean will get to show Sam their Heaven, will listen to Sam relate through his years.

There is so much work to do.

But they have time. They have all the time they need.

---

“Life never ends when you are in it.”--Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters

1K notes · View notes

achillieus · 3 years

Text

we’re fools. (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: for all bucky barnes knows, he hates clichés. and this thing between you two, happens to be the biggest one.

(enemies to lovers trope or i watched the society on netflix recently and based this entirely on harry bingham and cassandra pressman)

pairing: college au!bucky x reader

warnings: alcohol, angst, too much tension, bucky and reader are stupid and in denial, sexual tension all around the place

tagging: @tonystankschild

(other parts) (masterlist)

part 2/3:

And then it’s the last week of February and you have an assignment together, you and Bucky, the boy with black hair and a mind that you’re certain is not as clever as he insists it is. You know this cannot possibly end well. You feel it when he sits beside you and his knee brushes past your leg. You feel it when you take a breath and smell his aftershave. Sandalwood and vanilla. It makes you want to lick your lips. Please, get a grip. You try to get away, even propose to write the whole thing alone so you wouldn’t have to spend any time around him. In your mind, you call it self defense. But Bucky’s boastful and you can see him pumping the muscles in his neck, trying to intimidate you.

“My dorm, tomorrow at 7,” he says “Don’t be late.”

(your late night instagram search history)

(00:38 AM) #literaturememes

(01:15 AM) @buckybrns

(01:30 AM) #newgirl

(01:50 AM) @buckybrns

(02:10 AM) @buckybrns

You find it annoying; how he’s present even when he’s not around.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that everyone, boys and girls, adore him alike. He’s charming, he’s crafty, he’s brilliant. He’s everything they want him to be and even more. It nearly condones his megalomania.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he’s aware he has an audience. Always plans his moves, knows how to play his character perfectly. He wears dark designer jeans and plain Henley shirts, buttons open, fabric tight around his biceps. Sometimes even a black leather jacket and a tag necklace. Girls are intrigued by the bad-boy, straight A student contrast, while the boys are envious enough keep him close and invite him to all of their parties. Bucky gives them whatever they need.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he’s utterly lonely. He has never said so, but it’s the truest thing about him. He has Sam. But for how long? Bucky’s used to people going away. It has been imprinted on him. His best friend, Steve, left with his girlfriend in an exchange program last month and Natasha, the one girl he ever came close to loving, just started dating Clint Barton. Clint fucking Barton. What a downgrade.

And then there’s you, sitting at the end of his bed, playing with the ring in your finger, reading some neatly written lecture notes. Usually, Bucky would think about 129 cheeky comments he could make to a girl in his room. But not to you. Are you sure, Bucky? He has grown accustomed to disliking you. It’s the one constant he has left and he’s not planning on losing it.

He leans down and takes the place next to you, a bottle of beer dangling loosely in his hand.

He offers and you decline.

“We need to concentrate on the project.”

“You’re the biggest killjoy.” Bucky says with a hint of a smirk.

“I’m studying, Bucky.” He can see your left hand holding that dark green pen in a tight grip and your eyes trying to focus everywhere but on his face. He can see your hair glistening in the warm afternoon light that comes from his window. He can see the soft red blush on your cheeks and the beauty mark on your neck. What a tricky thing it is to see. And to feel. And to want.

Is that what dislike tastes like, Bucky?

He talks a lot, that’s the first thing you notice. He says all sorts of things, most of them having nothing to do with your project. You’re certain it’s because he’s feeling as uncomfortable and agitated as you. But still, it’s annoying as hell.

“Listen,” you say and turn to his side “I’m not going to fail this class just because you have the attention span of a two year old.”

A laugh escapes his lips and you watch, completely in awe, the way little wrinkles form around his eyes and his nose scrunches. Right now, he looks tender and warm. No, he doesn’t.

“I think we’re both pretty smart,” Bucky says nonchalant and wets his lower lip with his tongue, before he adds, “We’ve got this, so relax doll.”

There are rules, things that are solid, de facto.

Example 1: Bucky never praises you. At least not out loud.

Example 1: Not valid anymore.

Example 2: Bucky uses the word “doll” approximately ten times a day. To other girls. The girls he likes. Not to you.

That’s actually wrong, he called you doll the first time you met. That doesn’t count. He didn’t know you then.

Example 2: Not valid anymore.

It feels foreign. Pleasant and beguiling, but foreign.

“You always call girls “doll”. What is this?” You ask and he looks up. “Is it like your thing, your flirt move?”

Bucky meets your gaze, his forehead creased, and holds it for some seconds before he laughs again. Is this amusing him?

“No, I’m serious.” You bite your lip. “You even did it to me when we first met.”

“I did?”

Of course he doesn’t remember, what did you expect?

“Yeah, when you helped me find the admission office.”

“And you remember that, an entire year later?” He raises his eyebrows, looking entertained and partly interested.

Your mind empties and for some time you feel out of place, embarrassed. But you’re quick to recollect yourself. You can’t let him get you.

“It was my first day as a college student, I remember all of it.”

Liar. You don’t even remember who you sat next to.

Bucky smirks a little too long for your liking and then he leans in, his body bending in a way that makes you forget to breath. He’s so close and you only see blue, a rare kind of blue between the depths of the ocean and the brightest shade of the sky at noon. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t that handsome. Handsome and indomitable. What an awful combination.

“Interesting.” He whispers and lies back, touching the wall.

You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and clear your throat.

“I should go, it’s obvious we’re not making any progress.” You pick your books and stand up. “Sometimes I wonder how you get all those perfect grades, you clearly-” You merely finish your sentence before he grabs your arm and swiftly, he has you pressed against his wooden bookcase. You don’t have time to blink.

What’s happening? He was sitting down a second ago.

“That day,” he says while his thumb draws circles on your wrist. “You were wearing a denim dress and some Saturn shaped earrings. And you were holding a cherry juice box.”

It’s utterly terrifying how your emotions toss and turn the moment you realize what he’s talking about and the fragile muscles of your heart ache because Bucky cares. Bucky remembers.

“It wasn’t my first day of college, but I remember.”

You want to throw up. Or kiss him. You’re not sure. You know you hate Bucky. Do you? You’ve taught yourself to. And it was never supposed to change. It shouldn’t have to.

You part your lips to say something, anything, but he shakes his head and steps back.

“You should go.”

And you do. And you’ll never tell him, but you’ll always regret not kissing him then. You’re sure now.

your inbox, the next morning

(10:25 AM) from [email protected]

I’m sending you our assignment. You only need to add a few things and it’s done. If anything else comes up, it’s better we work on our own.

For Bucky, it all came crashing down the moment he first saw you. It was all over the moment his eyes met yours. A gourmand perfume lingered in the air around you that day and it stained his pores. And it’s been with him since then. Clinging onto his flesh.

It’s partly obsessive and partly romantic and Bucky tries to keep it locked inside. He thinks he can make it go away easily, the way he flicks a crumb off his expensive cashmere scarf. He thinks if he doesn’t talk about it, it’ll be less true. That’s not how things work, Bucky.

Yeah, he’s starting to notice.

And he’s trying so hard to hate you. The problem is, he doesn’t think he can.

(his late night instagram search history)

(00:45 AM) #tomfordperfumes

(01:30 AM) @y/n

(01:50 AM) #funnycats

(02:15 AM) @y/n

(03:45 AM) @y/n

You make it your mission to avoid him and it’s going well until the fifth of March. You spot him at Sam Wilson’s party. You should have known he’d be here, they’re friends. There’s a thick cloud of cigarette smoke all around, but still, you can perfectly see him. He’s standing alone, his skin changing colors under the neon lights, a plastic cup in his hand, eyes crystal blue and swollen and fixated on you.

The room is small and everything feels known but unfamiliar at the same time; the atmosphere, his gaze, the lump on your throat.

They’re suffocating you, the looks you give each other.

“Buck, what do you want?” Sam asks, holding both vodka and gin and he observes the way Bucky merely turns his head to look at him.

What do you want Bucky?

Not to play a role anymore. For Steve to be back. Maybe, Natasha. No, he hasn’t thought about her in a month. Perhaps a Pulitzer Prize. Definitely a new pair of sunglasses. But there is one more answer he has behind his teeth.

Y/N, he almost says. Always.

“Vodka.”

He leaves before midnight and you can’t remember where the urge came from, yet you’re following him. You know he has noticed. But he just keeps walking until he reaches the door of his dorm and presses his back against it. He sees you and you see him and his eyes cut your heart open.

“Your place is on the other side of the building.”

“I know,” you mumble, “I just never got to say good job on the assignment and I wanted to.” You are unable to meet his eyes. You sound pitiful and you want to hit a wall; with your head.

Why the hell did you follow him here?

Because sometimes you do stupid things.

Bucky mockingly opens his mouth, as if shocked. It almost makes you groan.

“Did Miss high and mighty just comment something nice about me?”

“Why do you have to contradict everything I say?”

He shakes his head and you can feel your heart beat loud and irregular and it’s not because you’re mad. It’s because he’s coming closer, almost chest to chest now. And it’s because you can swear, he just glanced at your lips.

“Someone has to, you can’t act like you know everything all the time.”

“I don’t do that, you don’t know a thing about me Bucky.”

“Oh, but I do. You’re Y/N, you like plaid skirts and Homer and dark green pens. You expect everyone to be perfect. You expect yourself to be perfect. And you always want to do the right thing.”

His pupils are dilated. Yours must be too. Bucky Barnes is dangerous and fatal. He makes your blood coil and your mouth dry. And there’s a tension, almost pain, almost agony, deep in your lungs and it burns. And you don’t know who leaned in first, probably you because Bucky isn’t that brave yet, but suddenly your hands are everywhere. Your fingers blending in his hair, his digging in the skin on the back of your neck. He’s bringing you closer and it’s a mess and all you can hear is the beating of your heart; a rapid vibration between your ears. It’s pure and raw and it doesn’t hurt anymore.

He tastes like ambrosia and a year-old despair and you think you can go on forever. You eventually break apart because you both need to breath and for a second you worry because he looks like he’s ready to cry, but instead he smiles, softly touching your cheek.

“Did I do the right thing?” You whisper.

...

feedback is so appreciated and motivates me tons, thank you :)

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #college au #bucky barnes imagine #au!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #alternate universe #alternate universe bucky #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #fools

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harveywritings92 · 3 years

Text

BNHA Dad Scenario: Your boyfriend has a brain fart.

In which you boyfriend's brain filter shuts off and says "Oh cool she calls you daddy too!"

-----------------------------------------

Dabi: You were talking and eating ice cream with your dad and B/n when you remembered you had load clothes in the washer downstairs. "Excuse me daddy I'll be right back!" you said Dabi hummed as you disappeared behind the basement door, Your boyfriend who you believed to be high during these events, in a moment of sheer brilliant stupidity, looks at you dad with this dopey grin and says.

"Oh cool, Mr. T she calls you daddy too?"

Dabi went still as a statue following the loud tense silence filling that kitchen, Your boyfriend was oblivious until a sweet smell permeated in the air. It smelled like...Brownies? B/n wondered where it was coming from, then he saw it was the ice cream in your dad's bowl it had melted and was now being boiled as his hands gripped the bowl hard Dabi’s electric blue eyes bore into your boyfriend's soul with a clear message.

*Get the fuck out of my house before I shove my fist down your throat and boil you from the inside...*

B/n wasn't sure why your dad was so upset he ran out of the house, it wasn't until he was block away from your house did he realize what he had said! he face palmed before bursting out laughing and thanking the Gods that Dabi was so pissed he forgot how to stand up!

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Bakugou: You were in the room when it happened you watched B/n's face drain of color as realization set in, felt your heart shrivel up and drop into your feet as you nervously turned to face your dad who's face had turned a lovely shade of vermillion.

You barely registered your mom snapping her fingers before seeing her standing behind the enraged blond; holding a wet plate in one hand and pointing at your dad with the other.

Your mom nervously mumbled to B/n "Run...Boy run." both teens realized she holding back Katsuki with her quirk and he was breaking free from it's time freeze effects while croaking. "Ki....ki...llll....kill y....ooou!" as his hand which was sparking reached out for the boy's head, you never knew B/n could run that fast! he'd put uncle Tenya to shame!

-------------------------

Hawks: Your wings were shaking laying flat against you head watching your dad stand up straighter . "Oh...god whadda just say?' B/n stammered You swallowed watching your dad's wings bristle and harden a few feathers slowly aimed at your terrified boyfriend, you grabbed the petrified boy and yanked him out of the way as one feather went for his head.

Using your quirk You dragged B/n behind a corner and the two teens walked out from behind a tree, and were now in the park across the road and you pushed B/n onto a bus. "Go!" the boy looked conflicted as he saw your dad flying around looking for the the teens.

The wings on your head puffed up. "The worst he can do is ground me, now go!" you huffed B/n could only cry as he paid the bus fair and sat down it wasn't till he had calmed down and satisfied Hawks wasn't hunting him, B/n finally got off at his stop only to look around confuse... this wasn't his neighborhood. "She put me on the wrong bus..."

-----------------------

Shigaraki: Your dad was shaking and moving so slowly to look at your boyfriend, you thought he was lagging in real life! As he tried forming a sentence, but nothing coming out of his mouth was a tangible word.

Truthfully it sounded like he was trying to place ancient curse on the terrified boy! “Aw har pharlargar dor!!” he snarled pointing at B/n who was frozen with fear!

Luckily for your boyfriend Shigaraki was so blinded with rage he seems to have forgotten how to kill... He was practically frothing at the mouth as Kurogiri calmly ushered B/n away to safety at your request.

For the next couples months B/n was walking on eggshells making sure your dad was on a mission or in a long meeting, before sneaking in to see you as he was listed as a maim on sight. and your dad kept decaying your bedroom door to make sure you two were just studying or playing videogames.

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Kaminari: "Whoa, dude she calls you daddy too?" Your boyfriend said forgetting who he was talking to, he and your dad are like total bros! They get along so much that he sometimes forgets Denki is your dad, soo when B/n saw your fraught expression he realized what he had just said the color drained from his face and turned to look at your dad to see him wearing this stormy expression.

"Hah...wha’cha say?~" Denki huffed tapping into his inner Bakugou, B/n giggled nervously. "What?" the boy said coyly as your dad's eyes narrowed. "No, you said something." he glared waiting for B/n to repeat himself as your boyfriend started sweating bullets, before pointing behind your dad. "...Kaminari look out!" B/n freaked while Denki deadpanned.

"I'm not falling for that..."

"No man! I'm super cereal, you gotta look before it's too late!?"

"Seriously? I’m not stupid."

"Look out! here it come!"

Your dad caved and looked behind him and B/n took off like a bat out of hell through the backdoor. "Dammit!" Denki slammed his hand against the wall accidentally discharging his Quirk and knocking the streets power out, and short circuiting himself.

#bnha fanfiction #bnha scenarios #bnha dad scenarios #boku no hero academia #dabi x reader #kaminari denki x reader #hawks x reader #shigaraki x reader #bakugou x reader #Dad! Bakugou #Dad! Dabi #Dad! Shigaraki #Dad! Kaminari #Dad! Hawks #touya todoroki #kaminari denki #katsuki bakugou #keigo takami #shigaraki tomura

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aliensunflower-fics · 4 years

Text

Marinette Changes Schools: A funny little Lila salt prompt

So, there are a lot of ‘Marinette changes schools’ au’s and I love a whole bunch of them don't get me wrong. BUT the one thing I haven’t seen yet is Marinette changing schools not because of Lila or salt but simply because her parents are moving and they want her to attend a school close to home. So without further ado let me sell you on my little idea:

Lila has been plotting weeks worth of plans and lies, she’s thought up some sob stories about being stalked, about near death experiences, about celebrities that are like her family. She has plans for Marinette all the ways she could make the girl look bad and all the ways she could force Adrien to see her. That all goes out the window one day when she gets to school and it's a sob fest. There is a clear air of dread and dismay, the blue skies she saw on the way to school replaced with heavy storm clouds. And when she gets to class it's worse. Marinette and Alya are hugging and crying, Adrien looks like he's been shot, Nino and Kim are demanding to know ‘why’ even Chloe looks upset, her blue eyes a little glassy. Lila quickly learns why, Marinette’s parents' business is doing GREAT so great in fact that they have decided to open a second location! The twist? They also decided to move INTO the new location and with it being on the other side of Paris and her parents fears for their daughters safety that means Marinette is moving to a new school!

Now Lila doesn’t even have to school her face into a practiced expression of shock. She genuinely is shocked here she’d been planning months in advance picturing the ways she would destroy her rivals life and steal her friends! And now just like that Marinette is MOVING? Of course Lila quickly decides this is a good thing! After all if Marinette is out of the picture ruling the school will be that much easier. Sure Chloe might be queen bee but with Marinette gone people will be looking to replace her! In walks Lila Rossi, a gorgeous upstart model with a heart of gold and connections coming out of her bangs! She’d rule the school and Adrien would fall for her, then Marinette would probably come crawling back desperate for her old friends only to learn she’d snatched them all up! It was brilliant! And with Marinette gone she could probably do it in record time! So Lila covers up her smirk and says she’s devastated to hear that the twin tailed girl would be leaving and begins plotting.

In the month that follows Lila leaves Marinette alone letting her have her friends for what would be for the last time. After all if everyone still loved the designer when she left they’d be all the more eager to replace her with a new and better version. Of course just because Lila is playing nice doesn’t mean she enjoys it. Alya is practically glued to the girl and ignores Lila even when she’s not trying to sabotage Marinette. Adrien is acting like his life is ending and all anyone will talk about is Marinette. When she checks social media it's all just pictures of ‘old-great times with Marinette’ or new photos and videos of helping the girl pack up and move into her new room, which Lila seethes about for a week when she sees the photos of the spacious luxurious room with a private bath. Apparently the Dupain-Cheng’s new bakery was in a pretty ritzy rich neighborhood. During school Marinette is mobbed by a constant stream of people begging her to stay and when they accept that not happening they all at least beg her to ‘come back and visit’ Marinette promises and Lila has to hide her snort. Fat chance of that actually happening.

Finally the last day arrives and Lila has to hold back the urge to gag as everyone fills the nearby park giving Marinette gifts and heartfelt goodbyes. Adrien is the last one to offer his gift and Lila seethes as Marinette gingerly opens the box with a gasp and pulls out two brand new pink hair ribbons, and Adrien goes on to say that they’re made of imported silk! SILK, as if the little baker brat deserved silk! The whole exchange is cliche and romantic as Marinette removes her current hair ribbons to tie in the new ones and Adrien ties the old ones around his wrist like some idiot who doesn’t realize what a love struck longing look he's giving his ‘good friend’. But Lila just keeps reminding herself its just a bit longer and sure enough not long after the hideously gooey exchange between Adrien and Marinette is over the designer is leaving with more tears and farewells. FINALLY Lila thinks she can get back to what matters! Ruling her empire.

As it turns out ruling her empire is not what she thinks. For the first month after Marinette leaves all anyone will talk about is the photos she’s posted online. The first week its ALL about HER new school is a private well known academy with uniforms, and isn't Marinette cute in it? And look at her in her custom black kitty thigh highs? Lila wants to scream, but not as much as when she catches Adrien drooling over the photo of said thigh highs and twirling the old nasty hair ribbons around his wrist. The second week its all about the video tour of her new home and school that Marinette sent Alya. Lila glares the whole time as Alya puts the video on the projector at lunch so everyone can see the big new gorgeous bakery and the beautiful house on the second floor and her stupid big bedroom that should belong to someone like herself and not some bratty bakers daughter! By the third week Lila has had enough and fakes some nasty texts from Marinette hoping to speed up the process of helping her classmates move on to HERSELF. It backfires spectacularly with Alya going on the warpath to learn who would dare frame Marinette now that she’s gone. Lila is starting to realize that somehow Marinette has reached a higher level of popularity now that she’s gone. But she reminds herself it won't last forever that in ‘just a little bit longer’ everyone will forget the baker. Right?

A little bit longer. Never happens. Lila asks the girls to hang out that weekend with plans of winning them over with some juicy celeb story? Alya says they all already made plans to hope aboard the train to spend the whole weekend at Marinette’s new place! Lila tries to corner Adrien into a date after a photo shoot. He disappears and all she hears from the workers on set is that he's been looking up some new bakery on the other side of town. [Marinette is suddenly being visited by Chat Noir every other night but she figures she must have moved closer to where his civilian self lives if hes dropping by so much.] She tries to throw a party for the class? They can't. Marinette will be coming out to the park today! With her new school friends!

AH HA! Lila see’s opportunity and decides to tag along. After all if Marinette has new friends Lila can twist it! She’ll whisper about her replacing them all! Make them hate Marinette’s new friends! Fill them with jealousy till they hate Marinette! It's BRILLIANT! And, it fails in less than two minutes, with Alya learning about Aurore being a ballet dancer and the two girls bonding over their mutual love of DANCE?? How the heck was Lila supposed to know Alya had been a champion ballet dancer in her younger years! Then Nino is bonding with some kid named Allen or whatever about classical vs modern music and how to blend the two! And some kid named Claude is joking with Kim, Max, and Alix! And this is definitely not how things were supposed to go!

The worst part is Adrien, who is passive aggressively fighting for Marinette against Kagami AND Felix who are both all too eager to show how ‘close’ they’ve gotten to the baker's daughter while Adrien’s been across the city. Kagami is all to happy to show off that she ALSO bought Marinette some new silk hair ribbons [in a red shade that happens to match her fencing uniform] while Felix eagerly wisks Marinette away the moment Kagami and Adrien are distracted the two fencers find him openly flirting with an oblivious Marinette her hair down because ‘oh felix was nice enough to help me get some leaves out of my hair and said i should leave it like this!’ [while both Kagami and Adrien agree she looks beyond cute they know this means war.] Needless to say Lila didn’t realize that Marinette was that damn popular with men and woman.

The week after the meet up Lila is worn so thin she’s ready to snap. Not only did the class not get jealous but they actually became FRIENDS with all of Marinette’s new buddies and were planning many more meet ups including a paintball war over the baker girl that saturday. Adrien had taken to openly mumbling to himself about changing schools and how he ‘cant believe’ his own flesh and blood would so openly flirt with HIS very good friend! And what was with Kagami showing off how easily she can pick up and carry Marinette? And why did she invite Marinette to watch their next tournament! He needed to train, what if he lost?? In front of Marinette?! And then she thought he was too weak to keep her safe like all good friends are supposed to do! Clearly Kagami was trying to replace him as Marinette’s very good friend! Poor Nino who was sitting next to the boy had actually volunteered to switch with Lila but she came up with a lie to avoid it, she’d had enough of hearing about Marinette from Alya and Juleka and the rest of the girls, she didn’t also need to hear it from Adrien!

It all comes to a head that Saturday during the paintball tournament when Lila now at her wits end her plans out the window her schemes barely thought out hopes to find something ANYTHING to ruin Marinette’s day and reputation and everything. But Lila just so happens to get completely pelted with paintballs everytime she so much as moves and then later gets ignored when trying to wow Marinette’s new friends, and then gets called out by Felix and Kagami snaps and finally she snaps and SCREAMS and runs off and not even a dark little butterfly comes to help her ruin the perfect day. As it turns out Hawkmoth was a little preoccupied with trying to save his business after all the computers and data involved in his precise scheduling were mysteriously corrupted suddenly freeing up his son's time and schedule so he could spend more with HIS very good friend and no one else's. Kagami and Felix apparently had the same idea as when he gets to her new house their already their doing their best to get on her parents good side.

Basically just give me some comedic, fluffy, Lila salty, Marinette changes school fics. Because I love them ok.

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#lila salt #ml salt prompt #lila salt prompt #adrinette #alya sugar #marichat #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #miraculous salt #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #protective Adrien #my fic #kagaminette #felinette

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nanagoswife · 3 years

Text

Noticing You, Noticing Me

Chapter Eight

Summary: More soft moments between reader and Obi-Wan as they enjoy being back together

W/C: 3.5k

Warnings: Not smut, but there is some intimacy? Not really though? Idk😅

- - -

Apparently, everyone knew about Obi-Wan’s arrival except for you. Anakin and Padmé were just the ones who participated.

As you walked through the halls, basically clinging to his arm, he laid his free hand on top of one of yours as he told you.

“I had also been talking with Anakin these last months, albeit, not as often as I was with you.” He paused to smile at you, gently squeezing your hand. “When I found out of my plans to come here, I wanted to find a way to surprise you. Then, Anakin came to mind.”

“Let me guess. You asked Anakin, then Anakin asked Padmé, and then Anakin told you what she had said.”

Obi-Wan smirked. “Sometimes I forget how well you know your brother.”

A small sense of pride filled you with that.

“But yes, that’s what happened. Of course I had first written to your parents about a few things. They were more than happy to hear that I could make my way over after so long. I think it was something about how their daughter was quite taken with me.”

He looked down at you with that cheeky smile once again. You shook your head and giggled as you lightly pushed him, only sending him slightly off balance.

His laugh filled the halls as he regained his steady pace.

“I do believe that she is quite taken with the prince of Coruscant. The princess couldn’t be happier.”

Obi-Wan’s crystal blue eyes stared into yours while he smiled. Slowly, he brought the two of you to a stop in front of one of the windows. The light of the sun reflected perfectly in his eyes.

When he turned to face you, both of your hands ended up in his one. Although you loved the feeling, you took one hand away to bring it to his cheek. A small giggle bubbled its way out of you at the feel of his beard as he leaned into your touch. The well trimmed hairs were scratchy but in the most delightful way.

Your eyes couldn’t leave his even if you wanted to. The sight of him like this held all of your attention as you slowly dragged your hand down to rest on his chest.

The fact that both of you were leaning in went hardly noticed. It felt so natural that you paid no mind to it. It was only as you were that few centimeters away from the other’s lips that you realized, but you didn’t pull away. No, this was something the two of you had come so close to once before, yet it now had a different meaning. This was more deserved than before.

You were so close until footsteps could be heard from the other end of the hall. Obi-Wan huffed out a sigh of annoyance but didn’t make any movement to pull away from your proximity.

“We really need to find a more private place,” he whispered, causing you to chuckle,

“If I remember correctly, not even that worked, Obi.”

All he did was groan and roll his eyes as his shoulders slumped. “You unfortunately make a good point, my dear.”

You chuckled before the person arrived in your area. When you turned to greet them, it was Varlo. Maybe it was your eyes just playing tricks on you, but he seemed absolutely miserable. More than he had been in the last two months, anyways. Apparently not having the popularity that he used to have was weighing on him more than you had thought.

“Good afternoon, Varlo,” Obi-Wan greeted with a bow from just behind you. As he did, you saw that a small piece of his hair fell out of place. He did nothing to put it back, though, as he stood up.

“Prince Kenobi,” he greeted briskly with a stiff bow.

He seemed rigid in his greeting. Had something gone wrong in a dispute? You weren’t super into the politics of your kingdom as he was, so you didn’t know what possibly could make him like this.

Varlo’s jaw seemed tense, like he was clenching it.

“Is everything alright?” you asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. You could feel Obi-Wan shift uncomfortably behind you. Whatever was going on with Varlo was unsettling him just like it was for you.

“Hm? Oh, yes, I apologize. Just something occupying my mind. Anyways, I really came here to find you to tell you that our parents are putting together a small feast in honour of your arrival, Prince Kenobi.”

“Please, call me Obi-Wan. And thank you. I’ll be sure to thank them later although it’s highly unnecessary.”

“Oh but it is,” you cut in, flashing him a smile.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Alright, alright. If you say so.”

“I’ll leave you two be. But, Y/N, I should mention that mom is putting this together. So, be prepared,” Varlo said with a playful smile.

You knew exactly what he meant. Whenever your mother would go into planning mode, she always made it the best. If it weren’t for the fact that Obi-Wan had told them before arriving, you would’ve assumed they only had a day's notice. In that case, it would be more toned down. Knowing that she had known well in advance, well, it would be extravagant.

Both you and Obi-Wan said your goodbyes to your brother before he turned away.

“Well, what shall we do until dinner?” Obi-Wan asked when your brother was far enough down the hall. Before you answered, you brushed those few strands of hair back into place.

“Have you unpacked yet?” You turned to look at him, seeing him shake his head no. “Why don’t we do that, then.”

His smile grew even more before offering you his elbow. “Sounds like a plan.”

At first, Obi-Wan felt a slight bit awkward. The last time he had a girl in his room, that wasn’t his mother, was Satine. Nothing had happened between them other than simple conversations.

With you, he was a little nervous. He wanted a life with you. Unlike with Satine, he felt like he could see himself with you for the rest of his life. Every part of him was drawn to you in a way that he had never felt in his life.

As the time went on though with you helping him where you could, it felt just as natural as everything else. Obi-Wan could feel himself relax more and more as the time passed.

By the time he had finished, you were sitting at the foot of the bed. Despite his insistence, you refused to make yourself more comfortable further up the bed. Instead you stayed where you were, intently listening to his ramblings. Some were stories from your time apart, others were just simply him muttering his thoughts.

Nothing changed though. You sat and listened, occasionally chiming in at certain details.

Once Obi-Wan was done, he sat beside you. It didn’t take long to find your hand so that he could intertwine his fingers with yours.

“So,” he started, “did that take all the time we had or is there still time?”

You giggled as you leaned against his shoulder. “I’m sure we have some time. Besides, who says we can’t be fashionably late?”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in curiosity. “Is there something your brilliant mind is working up?”

He watched as your cheeks flushed as you smiled coyly.

“Not really. But I did have an idea for after dinner.”

“And what might that be?”

You looked up at him, your cheeks burning an even darker shade than before. You opened your mouth to talk, but closed it before looking away again. It confused him.

“Darling?”

“Never mind,” you said quietly.

“If you think I would say no to whatever your plan is, I’m sure you’re wrong,” he said encouragingly. His free hand came up and turned your face towards him with his index. “What is it?”

When you stumbled over your words, he let his fingers trail along your jawline before cupping your cheek. It was a gesture to comfort you in your doubt, and it seemed to work. He could feel as the tension in your shoulders eased. Even the grip you had on his hand relaxed.

“I- I was thinking maybe… we could come back here after. Together,” you said. Quickly, you continue before he could react, “Not to do anything like, you know. Just to… sleep. And I was wondering if we could read that poetry book that we never finished that night because it was so beautiful and-”

Obi-Wan gently hushed you with a soft call of your name before you’d go into an endless ramble. “Yes,” he said in a breath. “Yes to all of it. Whatever you wish.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He felt you relax further against him. Almost on instinct, he wrapped an arm around you to pull you closer, pressing a kiss against your temple.

“Now, shall we head down to the feast your mother has put together?”

Chuckling, you lightly pushed off of Obi-Wan to sit up. “Are you sure you’re ready? She never goes halfway with these sorts of things.”

“Always.”

“Ok, so I may have underestimated what Queen Breha had planned,” Obi-Wan said with a sheepish chuckle.

What your mother had planned had even surprised you. All of the servants had been dressed in their best. The dining table was set to feed three times the amount of your group. The seven of you hardly made a dent in it all.

When it came to decorations, you would’ve thought that you would’ve been serving every king and queen there was. Yes, you were a part of a royal family, but you had never dined in such a fancy setup. You had thought your normal setup was over the top, but you were dead wrong.

Even Obi-Wan had seemed overwhelmed by it all. The enthusiastic call from your brother had distracted both you and Obi-Wan from your surroundings.

Apparently, despite actually arriving in time, the two of you were the last to arrive. Everyone else greeted you enthusiastically when you sat down after Obi-Wan pulled out your chair.

Varlo didn’t though. Like he was earlier, he had seemed preoccupied. That kept up during the whole meal. You didn’t pay much mind to it as your parents, Anakin, and Padmé all started a conversation lasting the whole meal.

Once you were all stuffed to the brim, Varlo had left. He said that he had something to attend to, yet he wouldn’t say what.

For the rest of you, the conversations continued as the servants all cleared the table without incident. Even if there were, it wouldn’t be a huge deal. Most of them you knew quite well, and so did your mother. They were all good people who strove to do their best in their role. You always smiled whenever you heard how happy they really were.

“Even I underestimated what she would do,” you replied, squeezing his hand gently as you walked down the hall to the sitting room that contained the poetry book.

Normally, your arm would be linked with his, but you didn’t feel like being that formal. You guessed he felt that same as he reciprocated the action without any protest. If he had said anything about it, you were sure that it would only be about how his thoughts were going down the same path as yours.

When you had gotten to the room you needed, you told Obi-Wan to wait as you quickly ran in to grab the poetry book. After you did, you resumed your hand holding all the way to your room first to change and grab some things.

You had disappeared behind your changing screen as he observed your room. There wasn’t much in your room. A few books on the shelf beside your desk, the satchel which held all of his letters that sat on the floor still next to your desk, your bed, and your changing screen.

Everything was going well until you were unable to undo the back of your dress. No matter how hard you tried, each attempt was met by failure.

There was no other choice other than to ask Obi-Wan to help.

Stepping out from behind the screen, you saw him looking out of your window. He had one arm across his chest while his other elbow rested against it as he stroked his beard. It looked as if he was lost in thought only to briefly smile to himself.

“Obi,” you called out. You hated to break his train of thought, but the longer this took, the longer it would be until you could get on with the night’s plan.

He turned towards you, looking slightly confused when you were still in the same lavender dress as before.

“I can’t get it undone, and I… I was wondering if you could help,” you said as you looked at the floor. It felt strange asking this of him. At the same time, it thrilled you. Nervousness took over in the end.

Obi-Wan walked over to you, taking your hands in his. He gently squeezed them in a silent question asking you to look at him. “Only if you want me to.”

You nodded. With a comforting smile, he led you back behind your screen. Turning around for him, his hands worked on the ties at your back. Each lace up your back slowly loosened as he made his way up, letting his fingers graze against your back.

As he made his way up, you couldn’t stop the shiver that went through you as his hand ghosted the bare part of your back. When he was done, he placed his hands on your shoulders, finger slightly under the material of the dress.

The sensation was one you had never felt before as his hands began trailing outwards, bringing the fabric with it. A part of you wanted him to continue, but you knew it was better when he had paused his gentle caresses.

“I’m sorry. I- I’ll let you get changed.”

“It’s alright, Obi,” you said as you turned to face him. “And thank you.”

With a shy smile, he went back to the main area of your room. A part of you wished you could’ve continued, but now wasn’t the time for that. Hell, you hadn’t even kissed yet.

Either way, you pushed it aside as you finished getting ready. Your sleep gown was much more comfortable than your dress. You wondered what Obi-Wan would think of the light blue gown that flowed more and was far less constricting.

When you walked out after changing, Obi-Wan’s breath hitched for what felt like the hundredth time today. He knew night gowns were nothing special, but you just looked so… beautiful.

The simpleness of it caught his eye immediately. Yes, you looked amazing in all of your day gowns, but this was just a new level he didn’t know was possible.

He must’ve muttered something about it because your cheeks turned flushed as you took on a demure stance.

Finally gaining some sense, he cleared his throat before speaking, “Shall we continue the evening?”

You nodded, walking over to him before taking his hand to make your way to his room. Although it was no secret that the two of you were together, you had to make sure you weren’t seen. People would most likely assume that something other than what you truly were doing would be happening.

The only people that were told were Anakin and Padmé. They had told you that they would make sure that no one saw either of you. Specifically in the morning. The plan was that Anakin would make sure the hall was clear as Padmé would come get you and escort you to your room. Of everyone, they knew that Obi-Wan wouldn’t take advantage of you. Plus, with your friend knowing of the night you and Obi-Wan had first read this book, she was quick to believe your true plans.

Thankfully, the hall was clear all the way to his room.

Obi-Wan had removed his jacket rather quickly, exposing his white tunic that lay underneath. There was a small area where his chest was slightly exposed, revealing hairs there that matched the colour of his beard.

A small part of you wanted to have the kind of courage that he did and unlace the top of his tunic for him, to feel some of the skin on his chest. That courage wasn’t there. Not a single part of you could muster up the ability to ask, but you didn’t need to. Obi-Wan had caught the way you were looking at him.

Taking a few steps to close the distance between you, he took your hands in his.

“It’s alright,” he said, placing one of your hands on his chest near the ties. “You can if you want. You don’t have to.”

His voice was quiet and soothing. That courage you thought you would never have? It was there now, slowly crawling out as he encouraged you.

Along with his comforting words, you moved your fingers to where the lace laid. With a shakiness, you brought your other hand up to help undo the knot. Before you could start untying it, he placed his hand on top of yours, squeezing gently for comfort.

“Relax,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do this. Stop whenever you like.”

As he took his hand off of the two of yours, the final bit of courage filled you. Slowly, you untied the lace, loosening it until even more of his chest was exposed.

For a moment, you let your fingers graze over the exposed skin and hair. The golden curls on his chest made you smile as you briefly rubbed his chest.

This time, you gained even more confidence as you then let your hands glide down to his torso. Something in you wanted to see more, to feel more, but you weren’t sure if it was the best decision.

When your hands reached his waist, you stopped. Looking back into his eyes, nothing but warmth and sureness radiated from them.

“Go ahead. Like I said earlier, anything for you.”

You let out a shaky breath, gaining even more reassurance from Obi-Wan as you looked in his eyes. So, you let your hands clench the material of his shirt, pulling it up until he lifted his arms, letting the shirt fall to the ground.

You let your eyes explore the surface of his skin, noting every scar until you reached out to trace them all. He told you how many were from training, others from a battle years ago when a random group who wanted to dethrone his father attacked.

He worked hard to keep his breathing controlled as your hands explored the surface of his skin. Despite this, Obi-Wan knew that if you felt over his heart that you would be able to feel it racing.

As you traced over his scars, he couldn’t help but let his eyes fall closed. The thoughts that began to run through his mind were becoming intrusive. He didn’t want to rush into anything with you, though. What he didn’t want to do was scare you off and that meant having to keep this all under control.

Plus, he didn’t want to wreck your reputation. Something like this could ruin you, and that’s not what he wanted. You were doing so much good for your people. If they thought any less of you than they do now, he wouldn’t know how he would live with himself.

Instead, he closed his eyes so that he could quell the feeling of desire he felt for you. It was working too, until you reached his shoulders, trailing towards his collar bone.

Nothing could keep his breathing from picking up. The closer you came to his collarbone, the more he felt his want for you. But he wouldn’t let it happen. Not unless you wanted to, and you already had said that you wanted this to be purely just an innocent night. Just reading and sleeping.

So, he shifted slightly, taking a sharp intake of breath as your hand traced his collarbone.

This exploration lasted a few minutes as you looked over his freckles that were scattered across his shoulders. Obi-Wan took a deep breath as you traced his collar bone, shifting slightly.

“I-I’m sorry,” you said, pausing your exploration. “Did I go too far?”

“What? No, of course not,” he said quickly to reassure you. “No, it’s just… maybe we should read now.”

Nodding, you went over to the bed. Obi-Wan joined you not long after.

After getting settled under the sheets, the two of you went into a familiar position like the night in front of the fireplace. Only this time, you didn’t stay awake long, falling asleep against Obi-Wan’s bare chest.

Everything, his warmth, the sound of his voice, the comfort of the bed, it all made you drowsy. Obi-Wan noticed and encouraged you, “Go to sleep, my dear. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

- - -

@stardancerluv @where-fantasy-meets-reality @jaydenwoo @madmax2003 @mackycat11 @generousrunawaydonut @imabeautifulbutterfly @animalgirl05 @blondekel77 @thereluctantherosrose @cosmicsierra @badbatch-simp24

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shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

A Wife For Thor Pt.01

10/12/2020

Arrivals and Departures

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 6,990

Warnings: language, talks of death, angst, talks of sex,

A/N: This is seriously...I mean, I don’t even know where this came from. Credits to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor because Roo gave me the idea and I kinda ran with it. Like omg, y’all. Blame Roo. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo Dialogue from Thor Ragnarok has been used in the beginning of this story.

Please do not REPOST my stories anywhere. Reblogs are most welcome!

He stands with his arms crossed in what appears to be a small sitting room with a large window that opens to the sublime sight of the black space beyond. Sterling silver, radiant red, and brilliant blue stars twinkle into infinity.

This is a sight that Thor had seen many times before and yet, for the first time in an age, he felt hopeful for the future.

His fight had ended. With Ragnarok, his journey had reached an end. Not the end, but certainly that of a chapter I which his battles might rest.

He imagines that this might be how his father felt when he had taken charge of the nine realms.

However violent that takeover might have been, his father had lied about many things—his sister for one—it had been the beginning of a quieter reign. A new formative time for his father. He may not have been a perfect man, but he’d grown wiser in many ways. Still not the best father, but his father, nonetheless.

Thor can almost picture his life on Earth, a time of peace. A time to rebuild. He will be able to give his people a good life there and he’s certain that his friends will appreciate having him closer. Friends from work they may be, but friends.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to go back to Earth?” Loki asks, standing beside him with his hands held gently at his front.

Thor looks at him, waiting a moment to allow him to finish speaking.

“Yes, of course.” Thor assures him. “The people of Earth love me. I’m very popular.”

Loki takes a breath, looking out the window as he quickly accepts his brother’s reasoning while simultaneously realizing he must word this differently to get his point across.

“Let me rephrase that.” Loki begins, “Do you really think it’s a good idea to bring me back to Earth?”

Thor knows that Loki has a point. His history with Earth is…not perfect. To say the least.

“Probably not, to be honest.” He admits, noting Loki’s apprehension.

Loki smiles, a little knowing.

“I wouldn’t worry, brother.” Thor tells him, both turning back to the void outside. “I feel like everything’s going to work out fine.”

The moment seems endless, the two of them waiting as if the something should or might happen after Thor’s optimistic sentiments.

Then the moment passes and Loki sighs.

“Right, well, I’ll start rounding up the people who will be of the most use once we arrive.”

Thor gives his brother one parting smile but doesn’t watch him leave.

Thor doesn’t know exactly what has changed in him, what makes him so confident in this decision, but he knows it’s the best decision he could have made. And if he’s honest, though he’d never admit it out loud, the possibility of finally being on the same planet as Jane…well, he’d be a fool not to consider the possibilities.

~~~~~~~~~~

Something feels different today.

As you wake, turning onto your side to stare across the small room at the blinking line on the blank word document on your computer screen, you can’t quite put your finger on what is making you nervous.

Your stomach is rolling, making you queasy, despite the fact that you have no reason to be anxious.

Yesterday was like the day before and today will be just like yesterday. Nothing in your life ever changes, and that’s become so much of who you are that whenever you have even a doctor’s appointment your heart begins to race in dreaded anticipation.

With trembling hands you clutch your blanket, trying to find a reason behind this mood. Your breath quickens as your heart panics, your mind scrambling to make sense of these emotions but nothing comes to mind.

So, you get out of bed. You get dressed choosing a simple knee length black dress that fits loose enough to keep you comfortable throughout the day. Then you head into the kitchen and start the coffee pot.

Halfway through the brew you shut the machine off and rush to dump out its contents into the sink.

“Fuck.”

You sigh, realizing you should really invest in decaf coffee for morning just like this.

“Tea. Tea is better.” You rationalize and pull your kettle off the warmer and fill it in the sink.

You replace it in its dock then turn your back to it, hands gripping the edge of the counter as you lean against it.

Your fingers stroke the smooth and unvarnished wooden countertop, suddenly going rigid around the lip as your heart goes frantic again.

The island counter directly in front of you is made of the same unvarnished wood, a slightly mismatched chair on the other side, tucked in beside the open shelving that holds your pots and pans. Along the center of the island sits a small vase with nearly completely withered flowers.

You’re filled with relief as your hands are given new task and you hurry forward and take the clear glass vase, toss the flowers—which crumble as they hit yesterday’s empty cereal box—dump the water in the sink and quickly refill it.

Setting the vase aside, you pull open a drawer and pluck from an array of contents a small packet of flower food, a pair of small pruners, a long piece of twine, and head out the back door to your modest backyard.

There isn’t much in it, and it’s unfenced. A large tree at the back-left corner provides shade and pecans. In the center of the yard sits a set of antique iron work garden furniture. Twisted and shaped into what reminds you of lace. Two smaller chairs and one long bench with curved backs.

You’ve been of a mind to buy cushions for them, but you haven’t found an excuse to justify the expense.

In between the garden set sits an outdoor coffee table made of wood and painted white. It’s fading and will need a new coat soon but again the expense can wait. At least until you sell another story.

Apart from this set and a small wooden shed beside the pecan tree, your yard is mostly overgrown grass and carefully cultivated flowers lining the length of your narrow back porch.

You smile, noticing the length of your grass, grateful for another something to keep you busy today. Something to keep your mind off this mysterious and anxious premonition of something to come.

Quickly you move to a large blooming bush at the end of your porch and cut from it several bunches of pink and blue garden phlox.

You admire the shade of the blue flowers. The color reminds you a pair of blue eyes you’d once seen on a woman who’d come to your school as a child.

She’d been beautiful and kind, but she hadn’t picked you. Still, you’d never forgotten the color of her eyes.

The pink is pastel at the edges of its petals and vibrant magenta at the center.

As you head back in, the kettle only barely beginning to steam, you quickly arrange the bunches you’ve picked and wrap them up with the twine. You set the bushel aside and with the vase pulled close, you tear the packet of flower food with your teeth and pour it in.

Replacing the flowers, you give the kettle one more look before you race back into your bedroom to pick out a more appropriate outfit for cutting the grass.

You decide on a pair of jeans and a plain yellow t-shirt. Pulling them on, you pause with your shirt hooked around your arms as your eyes find your laptop screen, annoyingly black still.

With a groan you pull your shirt on and from the kitchen you hear the whistle.

Breakfast is simple. A store-bought muffin and a cup of breakfast tea do the trick and while you’re still chewing your last bite you head out to cut your grass.

It doesn’t take you too long and you lament the last bit as you cut it, the machine vibrating violently in your nervous grip.

No matter how much you try to distract yourself, this feeling of something terrible coming will not go away and you’re about to go out of your mind when a shout from your back door pulls your mind from it.

Standing there is an older man with an unconventionally handsome face. His lips are thin, cheekbones prominent, brown eyes sunken, and his nose long and defined. His dark hair slicked and parted, neatly kept to match his crisp navy suit.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed?” You shout at him as the whirr of the machine dies into silence.

The man moves towards you, a smile brightening his face.

“I was just at a meeting.” He explains.

“Do you ever stop working?” You wonder, pushing the lawn mower towards the shed as he follows.

“Only when I’m on vacation.” He tells you, amusement in his voice but subdued and you only hear it because you’ve known him for years.

“You don’t take vacations.” You sputter, almost laughing.

“Precisely.” He agrees.

He waits for you to shut the door and when you turn, he greets you with open arms.

“How have you been?” He asks, holding the hug for longer than you’re used to which only adds to the anxiety you’ve been feeling all morning.

What’s going on?!

“Hey, you okay?” You ask him, ignoring his question in favor of satisfying your curiosity.

He doesn’t answer but holds the hug a moment longer before pulling back to look at you.

“We have to talk.” He tells you, making your heart pound.

“Okay. You want some breakfast?” You offer, and swallow hard as your fear mounts.

“Sure.” He says and follows you inside.

You make him a full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, breakfast sausage, and buttered toast with a cup of coffee. Just because you can’t stand the idea of being hyped up on caffeine today doesn’t mean David won’t.

He digs right in while you stand on the other side of the island, sipping on your second cup of tea in hopes that it will ease your frayed nerves.

For a few minutes he gobbles down your food but when you shift on your feet for the fourth time, he clears his throat, takes a drink of his coffee, then puts his fork down.

“It’s not exactly bad news.” He assures you, easing you a little but something tells you that you still won’t like it.

“Just tell me, David.”

“As your lawyer,” He begins, sitting back in your old wobbly chair. “It’s my duty to inform you when there are developments with your family’s estate.”

“Right.” You agree, remembering the day he’d found you when you’d turned eighteen to tell you that you weren’t exactly as poor as you’d thought.

You’re not really rich either. You have a little money that your parents set aside for you. Old money that you hadn’t really touched. You use it mostly for bills when you can’t sell a story fast enough and most of your wealth is in this cottage. A family home that you’d had no idea was yours until David brought you here.

Finally, a home, after living in that school all those years.

“Well, I think it might be time to reveal a little more of that estate’s history.”

“Why?” You put down the floral porcelain cup and wrap your arms around yourself, afraid of what he’ll say.

How did you know that something was coming? What kind of sixth sense do you have?!

“After all this time, why would it matter?” You sigh, moving to pull out the second chair to his right on the shorter end of the island.

“Don’t panic.” He tells you, reaching over to place his hand over yours. “Let’s keep our heads. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“You say that, but why do I feel like that’s not exactly true?” You sigh.

He blinks, gathering his thoughts before he nods.

“I think I’ll tell you all at once. Like ripping a band-aid. Might be the easiest for you.” He realizes.

You don’t disagree.

“Your family comes from a very small people in Europe. Their origins are hard to trace but we know that they travelled between France, Norway, Denmark, Romania, Belgium, Sweden, Austria, Greece, and even spent a large amount of time in hiding in the United Kingdom.”

“I get it, they were nomads.” You sigh, your mood taking a turn from the anticipation of clarity.

“Yes. Nomads.” David agrees, patting your hand in an attempt to calm you. “I only mention it because there are many questions as to where they had originated from. No one seems to know. Unfortunately, I don’t think that question will ever be answered as all records before their stint in France have been lost.

“What we do know is that your ancestors, your bloodline are royalty.” David says, as easily as if he were telling you your age. “Even though the titles have long since been lost, you are technically—though you have no country to rule over—a princess.”

Slowly his words sink in and your face begins to relax. You look down at his hand over yours and without warning you laugh once. Then again, and again, until you’re leaning on your chair, head thrown back as your whole body shakes with it.

“What is so funny?” David asks, unamused but he goes back to eating.

“This is a joke, right? You’re pulling my leg.” You gasp, breath shallow.

“Not one little bit.” He shakes his head. “If we knew what country your ancestors came from, you would very much be in some palace or castle, reigning over your people. Your parents, were they alive, would have been King and Queen.

“You may not think it possible, but that is your legacy, Y/N. You are of royal blood.” David insists which sobers you a little, but you think it’s so silly that this is what you’d been so scared of.

This is what you’d been dreading?

“Okay. Fine. I believe you. But what does it matter? You said that if I still had a country then I would be princess, but clearly, I don’t. So, I’m not. What’s the point of telling me this when it makes absolutely no difference to my life?

“I don’t feel any different and it’s not like that makes me any richer? I’m still sitting on a decently sized fortune to assure that I don’t want for anything at least until my forties. What could this possibly change that you felt it necessary to tell me?”

David wipes his mouth with his napkin, finishing up the last bit of his coffee before he gets up and with his dirty plates moves towards the sink.

“Leave it, David. I’ll clean up later.” You watch him, sitting up a little straighter as that anxious feeling begins to grow again with his extended silence.

He washes the plate and as he does, your nerves begin to fray again. You anxiously pick at a small splinter in your island, waiting for him to speak.

He turns towards you as he finished washing his plate, then meets your eyes.

“You weren’t just revealing my heritage, were you?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I felt I needed to reveal your heritage because someone has reached out with the hopes of setting up a meeting with you.”

“Why would anyone wanna meet with me simply because they know of my lineage?” You wonder, slouched, hands moved to your lap to rest limply as you stare at David, fear increasing with every moment that passes.

“May I ask you a personal question?” He says, moving to stand closer as he dries his hand on your dishtowel.

“David, you know everything about me.” You sigh.

“Why haven’t you ever had a boyfriend? Or girlfriend? I’m not sure I’ve ever asked if you-?”

“To be honest, I don’t know either.” You shrug. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Not even as a child?” He wonders.

“I was too busy wishing for parents as a kid.” You clarify. “I didn’t have time for crushes or any of that stuff.”

“Are you opposed to a relationship?” David asks, dropping the towel then moving around to sit back down in his seat.

“Opposed?” You ask, shaking your head. “Not exactly opposed. I’ve just never known anyone worth caring about like that. I’m mainly here at home. I do go into town when I need to get my packages but there isn’t anyone there that…I don’t draw attention like that.”

“You’re a pretty girl.” David tells you, reaching over to tug on your sleeve. “When you aren’t sweaty and covered in grass clippings.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“It’s not something I really worry about.” You admit.

“Would you ever want to get married?” David asks, and your heart is suddenly pounding.

The idea of being someone’s wife had crossed your mind once or twice. Mostly when you’d been jotting down ideas or plotlines for your books. In the end, because you didn’t think you had enough insight, you’d opted to remove all romance. You write mysteries.

“I don’t know that I’d be any good at it.” You confess. “I’m not…I can’t exactly picture myself being someone’s wife.”

“Why not?”

“Because I…I don’t even know what I’d be like in a relationship, sharing space and time, much less sharing an entire life?” You shake your head. “I’m not saying that I haven’t thought about it but it’s only ever been in passing.”

David goes silent, tapping his index finger against the island.

“David, please. You know I can’t take the suspense.” You plead.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He nods then reminds himself, “Band-aid.”

You take a deep breath and turn to face him a little more in your seat.

“Well, you are aware of our planet’s newest inhabitants?”

“Th-The Asgardians in Norway?”

“Yes.” David nods. “Well, as a sign of good faith, to ensure that they will abide by Earth’s laws and to assuage any ideas from panicked world leaders that they might try and overtake the planet and make it their own, they have decided that marriage to someone from Earth might be the best way to do that.

“The Asgardian known as Brunnhilde has reached out to all families of royal blood and asked to meet with any eligible women, preferably—as she so tactfully put it—maidens.” He explains. “Which I take it you are?”

You swallow hard, your lungs rubbed of oxygen and yet you somehow manage to quietly acknowledge, “Yes. I’m a virgin.”

How can you not be after spending your whole life unconcerned with romance?

“You don’t have to do it, Y/N.” David suddenly says; however, you can see the ‘but’ in his eyes. “But if you don’t and the Asgardian king cannot choose from the women he does meet, you will probably be hunted down and forced to meet with him anyway.

“All world leaders are in agreement that this is the correct and only way to ensure the safety of the planet. They will not give up until every woman meeting the Asgardian’s requirements have been given the chance to meet with Thor.”

“Thor?!” You gasp, rising to your feet as hundreds if not thousands of images flash through your mind of the Thunder God and the Avengers fighting side by side.

“Yes.” David affirms, rising to his feet with you. “With the death of his father, he is now King of Asgard.”

Of course, Thor is going to be King. You already knew this. It’s common sense.

For some reason though, the confirmation made out loud, vocally…how the fuck are you supposed to marry Thor? An Avenger? That’s not…this cannot be real life!

“David,” You begin, apprehensive.

“I know. I know it is a lot to ask but as I said, I don’t believe we have much of a choice. He might very well not pick you.” David adds, rushing to comfort you and point out how unlikely you’d be the one Thor chooses to wed. “There are plenty of other women that he’s already met with. Women that are more suited to life in a palace than you are. The Hungarian princess is so eager to be Queen of Asgard that she’s been sending the other women bribes to try and convince them to refuse.

“It won’t make a difference, since they cannot refuse should Thor choose them.” David admits.

“A-all I have to do is meet with him?” You stutter, heart in your throat.

“Just a quick one-hour meeting. He’ll ask you questions. Get to know a bit about you. See if you are suited for life as Asgardian queen and then it’s over.” David assures you.

“I’m…There are lots of other women better for it, right?”

“Loads of them.” David promises.

New fears begin to take hold in your heart and mind.

It conjures up the last time you’d seen Thor, strutting from a massive spaceship docked over the ocean by New Asgard. He’d risen from its depths all wide shoulders and biceps. Heavy steps thudding as he’d stopped at the end of the massive ramp, waving at the cameras as his people had filed out behind him.

His hair cropped short as opposed to the long tresses he’d had when he’d last been on Earth, one eye missing with a sleek black and gold metal patch over it the absence.

You’ve never been threatened by him before. He’s a hero. But the prospect of being his wife and having wifely duties...

Your mind flies into panic as it shifts that large body over you, crawling towards you with his hands prying your legs open. The years of sexual experience radiating off of this fantasy Thor and all of his bulging muscles.

You almost want to throw up at the prospect of having to consummate a marriage. You haven’t exactly been eager to be with anyone since you haven’t met anyone special, but you’d at least imagined something more intimate. More personal.

“David I-they won’t choose me though, right?” You reach out for him because your legs are suddenly weak.

He takes hold of your arms and helps you stand still.

“They won’t.” He tells you, sounding convinced. “There are better candidates. Women with actual titles.”

He’s right. Of course, he’s right. He has to be right.

“It’s just a quick meeting.” He promises. “Then it’ll all be over, and you can come back to your cottage and live just as you have been, with no one to bother you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Leaving your little place is difficult. After spending years without a home to call your own, now that you have your cottage, tearing yourself away from it is like pulling splinters.

You like your little yard. You like your flowers. You love your bed and its white sheets, little pink and yellow flowers printed on the soft fabric.

You’d made it more feminine. You’d brought flowers back and frills and lace. You’d made it everything you thought a cottage at the edge of a wood should look like and as time had gone by you’d brought in more personal touches.

After several years, your home is finally completely you.

This place, this massive Asgardian structure is less gold and more wood, stone, and iron. Silver steel polished so bright it gleams even in moonlight. This place is not you. It’s him. It’s Thor. His home.

Right now, with the day almost over, the palace takes on a warmer tone. The wooden structures and gray stone pillars are bathed in orange light, giving the place a pleasant glow and despite yourself, you can almost picture Thor meandering through these Nordic halls, a long crimson robe around his thick form.

It isn’t an unpleasant image now that you’ve given yourself some time to get used to the idea of him.

When you arrived you were greeted and seated in a large round room, the lower quarter of the sturdy walls made of ornate stone brick, the rest of the wall beautiful dark oak. The floor is also stone, massive carpets underneath several pieces of obviously Norse inspired furniture.

Well actually, the Norse was probably derived from Asgardian styles. There’s a difference in them that you can see but don’t understand. The coffee table in front of you has ornately carved legs, golden embellishments, and a black coat of paint.

The sofa you’re sitting on is mostly wood, painted gold, with plush and soft satin covered cushions in wine red.

There are two other tables around the room, a collection of books on one and an array of fruits, foods, and drinks on the other. There are several different statues and stands. Lamps that look as if they should have flames instead of the electric bulbs they now hold.

Small touches of modern design filter through the room complimenting the more traditional décor.

“Hello there.” Says a lilting voice.

You recognize it and turn to find Loki, slipping through a narrow opening in the large set of doors you’d been escorted through almost half an hour ago.

He’s dressed in a black suit with a plain white t-shirt underneath dressing the look down.

“H-Hi.” You stammer, surprised by his appearance.

You stand, knowing well that he may not be King but for Asgard, Loki is still a prince.

“No, please. Do not get up on my account.” He gestures at your seat and you settle back in as he crosses to the table with all the books. “I forgot some papers in here, I only came to retrieve them. Do not mind me.”

You avert your eyes, afraid to see something you shouldn’t and sit just as stiffly as before, hands fisting the royal purple dress you’d chosen to wear. It’s simple, quarter sleeves, high neckline with a small V at the center. Just above your knees in length, it rises as you grip it.

“Nervous to meet my brother?” Loki asks, stopping by the doors as he eyes your tight grip.

“This whole situation is a little stressful.” You admit. “I’m…I live in a small house in the middle of nowhere. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Ah, you’re the one with the lost lineage.” Loki realizes, moving closer with interest. “A hidden princess. You could have refused to come, you know?”

“I would have been forced eventually.” You point out. “There are a lot of people who want this marriage thing to happen.”

“True.” Loki agrees, “My fault, I’m afraid. I make them nervous.”

“You did very nearly destroy New York.” You point out, remembering the carnage reported that day. The aftermath had taken forever to clean up.

“I did.” Loki agrees. “Do you fear me?”

“No.” You admit. “If you weren’t safe, Thor wouldn’t have brought you back here.”

“He could just be too trusting.”

“Maybe.” You agree. “But with the fate of his entire people tied to the successful acclimation of Asgard and Earth, if you were really a threat, I think he’d have cut you out before coming back.”

Loki’s lips slowly curl up into a smile before breaking apart into a toothy grin.

“What is your name again?” He asks, a sparkle of something in his eyes.

“Y/N.” You tell him. “Why?”

“No reason. This has been very illuminating, Y/N. It was lovely to meet you.” Loki says then with a quick bow of his head, he leaves you to your solitude.

Confused, you sit there completely at a loss for what just happened.

Had you taken too many liberties with Loki? What had that smile meant? You’d been made aware that Loki was also involved in recruiting women of royal blood into marriage meetings for Thor, but you hadn’t expected him to know you by the description of where you live.

Maybe because it’s so unlike anyone else’s?

You sit there stewing for another twenty minutes, wondering if maybe you’re being stood up when the large doors open once again.

You shoot up onto your feet, so damn nervous your body reacts without your permission. Through the door this time comes the man of the hour. The massive Thunder God dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a plain gray t-shirt crosses over to the table with food and pours himself a stein of what looks like beer from a sloshing brown pitcher.

“Estrid, is this from the new batch of ale?” He booms loud enough that he can be heard even outside of the room as he takes a quick sniff of the liquid.

His voice is so deep.

Licking your lips, you watch him drink the entire stein without taking a breath or waiting for an answer, and then refill it before grabbing it and taking an apple with his other hand.

He turns, holding the fruit up to his mouth and freezes with it pressed to his lips as he meets your eyes, realizing he isn’t alone.

You’re not exactly sure what to say or what to do, completely taken aback by this strange and sudden exposure to candid Thor. Both of you unprepared to see each other despite the fact that you’ve literally been waiting nearly an hour for him.

His confusion mounts as he lowers the apple, looking around as if expecting an explanation or to see if he’s in the correct room.

“What time is it?” He suddenly asks, meeting your gaze again.

“N-Nearly six.” You tell him, and his one good eye goes slightly wide.

“Oh!” His lips curl up into an easy smile. “I did not think it was that late.”

His smile makes you feel a little more at ease, but you’re still on edge.

“You’re my meeting.” He tells you, as if you don’t already know that. “Y/N? Y/L/N, right?”

“Yes.” You nod, then before you can stop yourself… “You’re late.”

Thor blinks. Startled it seems or maybe just surprised, but then he smiles again. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, you can be as late as you’d like. This is your meeting. Sorry. I didn’t…I don’t know why I said that.” You rush to say.

“No, no.” Thor turns to put down his stein of beer and the apple replaced in its bowl. “You’re right. I am late. We were supposed to meet at five, weren’t we?”

When he turns back to you, you nod.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you have much you could be doing.” Thor says, moving towards you and gesturing at the spot you’d been in before sitting down at the other end of the sofa.

“No.” You confess. “Not really. I’m actually one of the only people that probably doesn’t have much to do. Well, I mean, I could be writing. Or cleaning house.”

“They tell me that you had no knowledge about your lineage before Brunnhilde reached out to your lawyer?”

You nod. “It’s not really important. Or…no. That’s not the right-what I mean to say is that it isn’t significant to my life.”

“Don’t you want to know who your family is?” Thor wonders.

“I know who my family is. I had a mom. And a dad. Both died just after I was born. That’s my family.” You explain. “Apart from getting to meet you, the news that my family was once royalty doesn’t change it in any way. I’m still just as insignificant today as I was before.”

Thor narrows his brow, watching you for a long torturous moment as he considers what you’d just said.

“Tell me about yourself.” He suddenly says, turning to lean back against the arm, his own thrown over the back, right leg bent up onto the sofa.

“There isn’t much to tell.” You admit. “I was born, my parents died in an accident. I was taken to a school for orphans where I grew up and aged out. On the day I had to leave, Mr. Valis found me and gave me my inheritance which is a good amount of money and a small house. I’ve been living there ever since.”

“You didn’t take any additional schooling?” Thor asks, relaxing. “All the other young women I’ve met have made it a point to tell me about the universities and colleges they’ve attended.”

“I took a few correspondence classes.” You tell him, “But I’ve only ever wanted to write, and I didn’t feel that I needed a higher education to do it. I mean, it would probably look better on my resume, but my writing should speak for itself.”

You can’t really tell what he’s thinking with the way he’s watching you, his hand playing with a thread on the back of the sofa.

You take it as a good sign that many of the other women have a degree of some sort. They must want someone respectable with a good education, right?

“How do you feel about political marriages?” He asks, and you’re stunned for a moment.

“Um…”

“Be honest, please.”

“I guess I don’t like the idea?” You admit. “Being forced to marry someone you don’t love because duty demands it? Feels archaic. If you love someone, whether they fit into whatever political standards are being demanded or not should not be a reason to get married.”

Thor sits up, shifting a little closer as he leans towards you.

“If you were asked to go along with a political marriage in every way but the heart, could you?” He wonders, much more interested than before.

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused.

“Well, let’s say for example, you and I were to marry. We’d be expected to have children. You’d be bound to do your duties as Queen of Asgard, but you would not be required to love me. Would you be able to fulfill these requirements?”

“You don’t want to do this, do you?” You realize, seeing the eagerness in his eyes. His shoulders slump. “If you don’t want to get married, why don’t you just say something?”

“I must do what I can to ensure the future of my people.” Thor says, sighing deeply.

“I’m guessing there’s someone else you do love that you can’t marry?”

“Not that I can’t but won’t. She isn’t ready for marriage and I don’t feel right making that kind of demand from her when she clearly has other things she’d like to be doing with her life. And…yes, maybe a little bit can’t. A royal marriage would make the most sense. I need a Queen.” Thor says.

You can’t find the words to tell him how fucked up this all is so instead you sit in silence.

“I know this is not ideal. I’ve tried to find other ways of assuring Earth of my commitment to this planet but nothing I’ve suggested is good enough.”

He needs a Queen. This gives you solace. No one is less of a queen than you are.

“I’m sorry.” You finally tell him. “It’s not fair. But I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone who checks all those boxes for you. I hear the Hungarian princess is pretty eager.”

Thor ignores you, stroking his beard as he watches you. “What do you want from a marriage? Let us say it’s many years from now and you have found someone you love beyond all reason. You two decide to get married. What does that look like?”

You’re a little surprised by the question but you humor him and take a moment to really think about it.

The man you picture has no face. There is no one you care enough about to imagine. So…because he’s the only option, you take Thor’s face and give your imaginary husband a face.

“We’d be partners.” You tell him. “Open about everything important. We would respect each other’s individualities. If something is troubling me, I would like to know that I could turn to him and if he had something on his mind, I’d hope that he could turn to me too.

“We’d be honest about even the unpleasant aspects of our life together. If we disagreed, we would talk about it openly. We wouldn’t hide from each other. We’d spend as much time as we could together and always make time for each other.”

You picture Thor sitting at your island in your comfy cottage. He’s so massive that he’d take up so much space. You’d have to squeeze past him, and he’d turn to wrap his arms around your waist as you pass.

He’d trap you there, not letting you move.

“We’d make breakfast together. Cramped up in my little kitchen, it would turn into play.” You smile. “We’d lounge around the house, reading and listening to music. In the evenings we’d move out to the backyard and watch the sun set then watch the stars until I’d fall asleep on his shoulder.”

As if you’re caught doing something you shouldn’t be, you startle yourself out of your daydream and feel your neck heat up.

You’d crossed from rational marriage into sentimental and you’re a little shocked at the detail in which your mind has gone.

You’re also a little startled by the pleasant feeling that picturing Thor in those situations has given you.

For someone who has never had a crush, you’re startled by the butterflies it gives you.

“But I’ve never been into anyone like that before.” You tell him, looking away from his intense gaze. “So, even if that’s what I picture, it’s not like it’s ever gonna happen.”

“It might.” Thor says, sounding as if he might be trying to comfort you.

“It won’t.” You assure him. “I hope your girl changes her mind.”

There’s a bitter ache in your chest as you say it, and you’re certain it’s only there because of the little fantasy you just allowed yourself to have. You should have picture someone else.

“I hope they relax on the royal blood thing and let you marry someone you love instead.” You hope.

“You say that as if you already know that I won’t pick you.” Thor observes.

You smile wide, laughing even as you bite your lip. “Well, I’m nothing like the girls you’ve met with. I don’t have endless amounts of money. I don’t have a prestigious education or extensive family. I don’t know anything about being royalty. The others have been doing it their entire lives. I’m the least likely candidate. I don’t fit the requirements, except for the bloodline thing.

“I only agreed to meet with you because I knew that the likelihood of you picking me was almost non-existent.”

“Ouch.” Thor says.

“No!” You rush to say. “You’re very…I mean, you’re kind from what I can tell and honorable. You’ve saved Earth a couple times and you’re a little self-centered but only in a superficial way that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a good man.

“I honestly don’t know why your girl won’t marry you but I’m not right for this.” You nod. “I wouldn’t make a good Queen for you.”

Thor nods slowly, thinking for a minute before he straightens up and turns to rise, slapping his hands on his knees before he moves back towards the table of fruit and beer.

“You’re probably right.” He agrees, and for some reason, you’re disappointed.

Not so much that he isn’t picking you, but rather that he sees you aren’t enough. You’re lacking in some way. Which you already knew but…knowing he thinks that makes you feel a little lousy despite that being something you wanted.

“I suppose I’ll just have to pick someone more suitable. Someone who knows better about ruling a people. All the same, thank you for coming.” Thor says, dismissing you.

He picks up his stein again and turns to look at you as you rise.

“It was a pleasure to meet you.”

You nod, “Likewise.”

After a moment of hesitation, you give him a wave and move for the doors, trembling hands reaching out to yank the doors open and make your escape.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been weeks since you met with Thor and you’ve completely forgotten the whole thing. Life has gone back to normal and even though you now know that you’re from royal stock, nothing, as you expected, has changed.

The only plus that has risen from this whole situation is that you can now picture marriage a little better, however inexperienced and cliché it might be, you can make something up now.

Your little fling with the idea of Thor had given you fuel to slip a little romance into your writing and your fingers are flying across the keyboard of your laptop as you type up a new and promising mystery about a set of lovers and the body they discover in the attic of their new home.

You hate to be interrupted during a writing session, but you must have forgotten that about yourself because your phone starts to ring.

Normally you mute it before you even sit down to write.

With a growl you reach over and take a quick look at the number.

David flashes on your screen and quickly you swipe to answer.

“Hey, can I call you back in like an hour? I’m in the middle of a chapter and I’m on a roll.” You plead, fingers still flying across the keys.

“Y/N, Thor chose you.” David’s voice says and your fingers freeze.

There’s a pounding in your chest and your head is full of white fuzz. Your legs are numb, and your stomach is swirling with both flutters and nausea.

You can’t have heard that right.

“What?” You ask, voice shaky.

“Thor. He chose you. I just got off the phone with Brunnhilde and she wanted to let me know so that I could call you and let you know that she’ll be by tomorrow to pick you up.”

This can’t be happening.

“She said to pack only what you absolutely need. Everything else will be provided for you.”

“David…I…I can refuse, right? I don’t have to marry him.” You plead desperately.

“Y/N…” David sighs. “You agreed to this before you went to see him. I’m afraid the time to back out has come and gone.”

“But I can just not do it.” You argue. “They can’t force me to do it.”

“The government will seize your assets if you refuse.” David explains. “They want this done. I’m sorry, Y/N. There’s no backing out of this now.”

“But…But he loves someone else.” You tell him and even though your mind knows that this should be the last thing to concern you, it should not be the first reason you can think of why marrying Thor is a bad idea, it is.

As your eyes focus on the little blinking line of your word doc, your heart gives a painful ache knowing that your husband will be loving someone else.

#thor x reader #king!thor x reader #royal au #arranged marriage au #thor odinson x reader #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fic #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #king!thor x reader fanfiction #a wife for thor #a wife for thor pt01

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street-smarts00 · 3 years

Text

I Hear a Symphony

Midoriya x fem!reader

Summary: Midoryia couldn’t tell the difference between romantic and platonic feelings. It took 4 conversations for him to realize how much you meant to him and how he had fallen completely and utterly in love with you.

⚠️ language

WC: 4,500

Eri was spending the day with class 1-a. You, Izuku and Eri were relaxing in the living room watching Disney movies. This time Eri wanted to watch her favorite, Frozen 2. The three of you were snuggled up on the couch together; you were seated to the right of Deku and Eri was to his left. He had both of his arms wrapped around the two of you.

“Hey izuku, what time is it?” you asked.

He picked up his phone, “4:25”

“Shit, I’m studying with Yaomomo and Tsu in five minutes,” you promptly stood up and grabbed your phone. “I gotta go, see ya later guys” you waved as you jogged to the elevator.

Eri and Deku stayed in the living room watching the movie. He was really glad that Eri took a liking to you. At first when Eri started to visit the 1-a dorm she was shy and mostly stayed with Deku, and sometimes Uraraka, Tsu, and Kirishima because they were familiar to her after the overhaul mission. But after a short while she started to open up and talk to his other classmates; especially you.

“Hey deku, what is a girlfriend?” Midoriya’s eyebrows raised, “Huh? What got you thinking about that?”

“Someone in lemillion’s class said they had a girlfriend.” Oh well that made a lot more sense.

“Well um a girlfriend, a girlfriend is,” he wasn’t sure how to explain it, he’s never had a girlfriend before. He also didn't want to explain it in a way that she would be confused or misinterpret what he said. He glanced up at the tv . . . Wait, that's it!

“I know, it’s like Anna and Kristoff. So you know how they fall in love and get married at the end of the movie?” He asked.

“Yea”

“Well before they get married they’re dating, and when a girl and a boy are dating they are boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Oh ok, I think it get it,” she responded as she smiled. “So it’s like you and y/n?”

WHAT? Where would she get that idea? One minute ago she didn't even know what a girlfriend was. Midoryia’s cheeks turned a shade of pink and his voice cracked when he spoke. “Um not really, we aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend,” He replied as he shifted his weight in his seat.

“But you always kiss her, and Anna and Kristoff kiss,” She added as she pointed to the characters on the tv screen.

“I uh, well they kiss on the lips, y/n and I kiss on the forehead and cheek, and sometimes friends kiss each other on the forehead and cheek.”

“Ooooh, ok!” She turned her attention back to the screen and leaned into him as she grabbed onto the blanket.

FEW, he was beyond thankful that she seemed to drop that topic. Although, it did stick with him; was it normal for him and you to kiss each other? It’s not like you guys made out or anything, but fairly often you guys did greet each other with a kiss on the forehead or cheek. But you guys definitely kissed in a not romantic way though. Yea definitely not in a romantic way. Yea, definitely.

“Hey deku, is y/n a princess? You call her princess a lot.” Eri questioned.

Midoryias heartbeat sped up. “No she’s not a princess.” He replied calmly even though his brain and heart were going a mile a minute. But then again what did he have to be worried about, you two were just really close friends that happen to be very affectionate and call each other cute nicknames. He called you princess, and you called him pretty boy. It was just a fun game between friends. His pulse slowed as his train of thoughts centered around you. He’s called you by that nickname for a while. He doesn’t remember when or how he started to call you princess, but he sure as hell knew why. “But she’s a princess to me,” he added.

Eri turned to him, eyes widened with excitement, “Am I like a princess?”

“Yes Eri. You are like a princess.” Eri smiled with one of the brightest smiles he had ever seen.

A few days later Deku was meeting with All Might in their usual teacher lounge room. Although originally they were talking about one for all, the topic of conversation shifted to you.

“And it’s not so much that her quirk itself is super cool and powerful, but it’s how she uses it. She’s always so creative and has brilliant strategies.” Deku beamed.

“You sure do talk about her a lot.” All Might chuckled. He watched as Midoryia’s bond with you grew rapidly as school went on. He also noticed that his successor would bring her up a lot and would bubble with excitement at any chance to talk about her.

“She’s amazing! She’s super nice and always looks out for others. And I love how passionate she is about the things she loves like music, she absolutely loves music. OH and she’s an amazing fighter. She does this thing when she’s fighting like she always raises her left eyebrow, never the right one because she can’t. AND she . . .” Midoryia realized that he had been talking a lot. He pulled at the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling,”

“Don’t worry it’s ok, it’s cute listening to you talk about your girlfriend,”

What? Not this again. “Uh, y/n and I aren’t dating,” he squeaked. He coughed and cleared his throat so that hopefully his voice would go back to normal. Why was his heartbeat speeding up? He was so calm a second ago, why does it feel like his heart is about to fly out of his chest or like he’s going to pass out.

All Might could see the boy tense and his nervousness still lingering. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know,” He apologized frantically, waving his hands in surrender.

The boy seemed to calm down a bit but was still visibly tense and nervous “It’s ok, but um why would you think that?” Damn his voice was still squeaky, he cleared his throat again.

“Because the two of you are so close and during class you’re always together. Also because of the way you talk about her. Like, I don’t know you have this smile on your face that I only see when you look at her or talk about her.”

“Oh but I don’t think I treat her any differently than my other friends,” Midoryia added. He really didn't think he gave you any special attention. He was close with all of his friends and is just a super affectionate person. Whether it was hugs with Tsu or linking arms with Iida. But then again he didn’t kiss them on the forehead and cheek.

“It seems to me that she’s more than just a friend,” All Might implied. He saw the boy's face turn a dark shade of red. “Sorry, if I made you uncomfortable.”

“Huh? oh it’s ok don’t worry about it,” Midoriya stammered. He played with the fabric of his jacket sleeves. “But ya know you’re not the first person to think that we’re dating.”

“Really?” All Might tried to sound as surprised as he could.

“Yea the other day Eri asked me if y/n and I were boyfriend and girlfriend, like in the Disney movie we were watching.” Midoriya felt like he was experiencing 30 emotions all at once. He didn’t know what he was feeling or how he was supposed to feel.

The school bell rang and zoned him out of his thoughts that we’re running wild. He quickly said goodbye to All Might and ran to class. He couldn’t stop his mind from racing. Did he like you? Like in a crush type of way? He’s never liked anyone before so he isn’t sure.

Once he reached the class room he passed by your desk on the way to his.

“Hey pretty boy!” You beamed. When you saw his expression you were filled with concern. His face was red, eyes were wide and his eyes were darting all over the place but refused to land on you. “Hey are you ok? You look stressed.”

He finally placed his eyes on yours and took a deep breath. “Yea I’m good I’ve just got a lot on my mind and I’m trying to figure something out.” He stuttered.

You stood up from your seat, “ok, well if you need some help or maybe a hug, i'll always be here.” You leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek like it was normal, because it was. He couldn’t believe it, that this was his normal. The fact that the two of you casually kiss each other and so much apparently that when you do it in front of your classmates they don’t even bat an eye.

“Thanks,” he replied as he awkwardly walked over to his desk and sat down. He placed his arms on his desk and rested his head on his arms. Bakugou turned around and gazed at the kid that he’s known for most of his life. “You look like shit.”

Midoryia raised his one arm and gave a thumbs up, “Thanks Kachan, I really appreciate it,” he quipped. Bakugou grumbled and turned back to face the front of the room.

He was stuck. Figuratively and literally. Literally, he was stuck in his bed because he was unable to move. Figuratively, he was stuck with how he felt about you and what this means. Right after school ended he stayed in his room analyzing how he felt about you. He wasn’t 100% sure if he actually had feelings for you and at this point he’s worried that he is over thinking things. Which he probably is.

During all of his freaking out he received a text from you. Great 🙃. He unlocked his phone and opened your text.

Princess: hey, this song reminded me of you

He opened the song, I Hear a Symphony by Cody Fry. He’d never heard it before but he always loved your music recommendations. He pressed play and listened to the lyrics.

I used to hear a simple song

That was until you came along

Now in its place is something new

I hear it when I think of you

Huh, so now that he is in her life he changed her, but in a good way (or at least he’s hopping). He loved the melody and the way the song started off with piano. It was very calming to him.

As the song went on he continued to listen to the lyrics carefully. There weren’t that many lyrics so he was relaxing listening to the beautiful build up to the chorus. He felt like he was entering a fantasy listening to this song. It was graceful and peaceful, but also powerful and full of emotion.

I used to hear a simple song

That was until you came along

You took my broken melody

And now I have a symphony

He was frozen as the song finished. That remind you of him? He knew that you always pay attention to the lyrics and the meanings of songs, so this wasn’t just any old song. Did he really make that much of an impact on you? Listening to this song knowing that you thought of him made his heart ache. His stomachs filled with butterflies and his pulse slowed down from its former fast tempo.

Not long after, Uraraka and Todoroki stopped by his room. “Hey deku. Can we come in? I’m with todoroki.” Uraraka chimed.

He got up from his bed and fixed his hair after lying down for the past hour. He opened the door with a genuine smile, “Hey guys! Yea sure come in, what’s up?”

Uraraka sat down in his desk chair, “We wanted to check up on you to make sure you were ok. You were really quiet in class today and you’ve stayed up here all afternoon.” He really appreciated his friends and how much they cared about him.

“Yeah, I’m ok. I was just kinda um freaking out about something earlier and had to think things through. But now I’m not freaking out anymore, well maybe, it's just a lot to process.” Midoryia rambled.

“What's the problem?” Todoroki asked.

Midoryia scratched the back of his neck. “Umm can you guys promise not to tell anybody?”

“Of course”

“Promise”

Midoryia anxiously placed his hands in his pockets. He needed someone’s advice. “I think I might have feelings for y/n.” He babbled.

The two friends in his room had very little reactions, if any at all. This’d made no sense, he just confessed that he might have romantic feelings for their friend and they don’t react?

Todoroki was the first to speak, “I thought you knew that.”

“Todoroki!” Uraraka chimed in a scolding tone.

“What? What do you mean? I just figured this out today!” Midoryia stammered. He was beyond confused. “So wait a second, you guys knew that I like her and didn't say anything?”

“Not to be as blunt as Todoroki but, we thought you knew you liked her. It was kind of obvious. You guys practically act like a couple already.” Uraraka answered.

“Do you mean like the nicknames, and kissing?”

“It’s not just that, you guys always slip in physical contact when you’re together, you both are very flirty from time to time, and any chance you get you start rambling about how great she is.” She replied. Well then that makes sense why he was going on a whole tangent about her with All Might earlier.

Uraraka’s features softened, “You really didn’t know?” Midoryia grabbed a fistful of his curls in frustration. “NO! I didn’t, not at all! I thought that was all normal friends stuff ya know!” He explained anxiously.

“We’re friends and you’ve never kissed me,” Shoto added. Uraraka giggled in response.

Midoriya sat down on his bed and played with the material of his hoodie. “So what do I do now?” He asked.

Uraraka walked over to his bed and sat down beside him. “I’m not sure, but if you really like her, then I think you should tell her. I know this is all new to you so don’t freak out about confessing right now. But I’d say give it some thought.”

Midoriya sighed and gazed at the floor. He had so much to process right now. “Thanks you guys,” he said.

It had been about a week since Deku had his mind blowing chat with his two friends. He was lying on the couch in the common area. But it was completely empty because it was 1:30 in the morning. At first he stayed up late studying, but then around an hour ago he tried to go to bed but could only stare up at the ceiling.

He figured maybe he needed a drink or snack or SOMETHING. He grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around his body. He knew it was going to be cold downstairs since it was snowing outside and the heater turned down at his hour. He made his way downstairs, but when the elevator opened he was too tired to head to the kitchen and make tea so instead he just plopped down on the couch.

He stayed there for a little while thinking about you. His thoughts recently always traveled back to you. Ever since people kept asking if you guys were dating, he hasn’t stopped thinking about doing romantic things with you. He smiled at the idea of holding hands with you and rubbing your hand with his thumb. Or cuddling with you in one of your dorms and saying sweet nothings in your ear. Or going on cute dates with you, like ice skating in the park. Or putting his hand on the small of your back and pulling you into a kiss.

Midoriya was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard the elevator open. He couldn’t see who it was from his view on the couch. The steps grew louder and stopped when they reached the lounge area. “Why the hell are you down here?” He heard from a deep voice.

He sat up and looked over at Katsuki. He was rubbing his eyes and his voice was groggy, he must have just worked up. “You’re down here too ya know,” Midoriya replied.

“Tch, yea but I just woke up, you probably haven’t slept at all have you? Ya damn insomniac.”

“I’m not in the mood Kachan.”

Bakugou grew suspicious of Midoriya’s response and tone. Usually he would respond with a snarky reply or a rambly explanation. He also sounded physically and mentally exhausted. Bakugou walked closer to the boy wrapped in a blanket and poked him. “What’s wrong with you?” He asked in a calmer but still rough tone.

The green haired boy shrugged his shoulders in response. “Nothing.”

“Yea sure, you’re alone in the dark in the middle of the night, and I can tell something’s bothering you.” Bakugou poked him again, “Now talk.”

Midoriya sighed, “I told you it’s nothing.”

Bakugou shoved his hands in his pockets,

“Fine don’t tell me.” He started to walk in the direction of the kitchen; But he stopped in his tracks after what he heard next.

“I’m in love with y/n,” Midoriya Mumbled.

Bakugou turned to face his childhood friend, “huh?” Midoriya pulled at the fabric of his blanket. “I said I’m in love with y/n. And I don’t know what to do,” he replied louder.

Bakugou made his way back to the couch. “Tch what the hell do you mean you don’t know what to do, if you like her so much then just ask her out.” Midoriya covered his face with his hands and sighed. Kachan was the last person he would expect to have this conversation with.

“I would, but I don’t want to make things awkward if she doesn’t like me back. I’m worried it will ruin our friendship,” Deku confessed.

Rolling his eyes, Bakugou sat on the couch adjacent to the one deku was sitting on. “Listen ya damn nerd, you’ve gotta be an idiot to think she doesn’t like you back. She follows you around like a damn puppy, it’s gross.” He cringed at that last statement.

“It’s not gross, it’s sweet. She cares about others a lot,” Midoriya corrected.

“She sure cares a whole lot about you for some reason.” Bakugou stood up again and slowly made his way to the kitchen to retrieve a water bottle he had been meaning to get. Midoriya was silent, Bakugou took note of this. The nerd was probably lost in his own train of thoughts at this point.

“Deku.” Midoriya turned to him, his blanket falling off of his shoulders. “Just suck it up and tell her how you feel. And don’t act like an idiot and say she won’t like you back. You may act like an idiot almost of the time but your not stupid. You know that girl would do anything for you.”

A small smile grew on Midoriya’s face. Bakugou saw and retorted, “If you tell anyone I said all that I’ll blow your ass up, got it?”

“Sure Kachan,” Deku laughed.

Midoriya couldn’t see it, but after Bakugou turned his back to him, there was a small grin on his face after hearing his “friends” normal tone again.

Not long after his chat with Kachan, Midoriya felt a lot better. He wasn’t stuck, not any more. He knew how he felt and he knew what to do.

You didn’t intend on staying up late. Originally you were going to watch a little Netflix, maybe go on your phone, and then go to bed around 11:30 or midnight. But then you found a new show to watch and 8 episodes later, it was 1:30 in the morning.

Around the middle of the 8th episode you heard a knock at your door. Crap. Just your luck. Every so often Aizawa would walk around the dorms if he didn’t go to sleep or woke up. He would check on the students to make sure they were asleep and in their own dorms.

About twice you and Midoriya got in trouble because one of you was in the other's dorm after curfew. Thankfully he didn’t catch you guys the other times you snuck into the other dorms.

It was actually a pretty common occurrence. Whether one of you couldn’t sleep and just wanted to talk, or if one of you woke up and needed help going back to sleep. Oh wait yea the knock at the door.

You paused your show and didn’t move. You waited for Aizawa to say something like open the door, or go to sleep, or Midoriya go back to your own room. But, you didn’t hear anything.

There was a second knock on the door, much weaker than the first. I guess it’s not Aizawa, you thought to yourself. You slowly got out of bed and tiptoed to the door. After opening it you didn’t see anyone. Huh?

You peaked your head out and looked around the hallway. “Hey,” You whispered. You saw Izuku slowly walking away from your room. He turned around and faced you looking frazzled. “Hi,” he replied with a small wave.

“What’s up? Can’t sleep?”

“Something like that. I didn’t think you were awake and I didn’t want to bother you.”

You opened your door wider, “Come here, get in.”

A small smile grew on his lips. He made his way into your room and sat down on your bed, you followed suit. “So what’s . .”

“I need to tell you something,” he interrupted. A small blush danced on his checks as he spoke. “Yea sure what is it?” You asked, voice filled with concern.

Midoriya was frozen, he wanted to speak but no words came out. This was a lot harder than he expected. He even went through what he was going to say beforehand in his dorm. Crap. His heart rate was picking up and his breathing quickened.

You could tell he was anxious and placed one of your hands in his. “Hey it’s ok, you can tell me anything.” You comforted him. “I’ll always be here for you.”

His features softened, “That’s what makes this so much harder,” he replied. He took a deep breath and tried to slow his rapid heart beat. He looked at the floor, too scared to look you in the eyes.

“I’m in love with you,” he confessed. He did it, he finally did it.

“You make me feel safe and happy. Your smile is beautiful and your laughter is contagious. I’ve never met someone like you. It’s like that song you sent me last week. My life was pretty boring and a little sad, but then I met you. You turned my broken melody into a symphony y/n.”

He couldn’t see your reaction but he felt your hand tighten its grip on his.

Now you were the one that was frozen. The two of you sat there for a minute in silence. He started to get worried. “Look, I get it if you don’t like me back, just, promise it won’t mess up what we have. Your friendship means too much to me to lose it.” He muttered.

You placed your hand on his chin and pulled his head to face you. Your faces were inches apart. You made sure to not take a pause in between what you were about to say, in fear that the first statement would give him a stroke. “I don’t like you, I love you.”

He didn’t know what came over him. Maybe it was the look of joy in your eyes. Maybe it was his blood filling with adrenaline. He didn’t know. He leaned forward and pecked you on the lips. The blush on his face only grew as he watched your eyes widen and cheeks turn red.

Only a few seconds after the first kiss, you leaned forward and matched his lips with yours. This kiss was nothing like the first one. The first one was an electric spark that filled you with happiness. The second kiss was more passionate and gentle. Although, it was a bit awkward at first and it took you guys a second to figure it out. But, pretty soon you both were in sync. You placed your hands on his neck and he reciprocated by placing his hands on your waist.

It felt like the world stopped spinning and it was only you two. You’ve waited for this moment for so long, since the culture festival to be exact. A moment where you were kissing the boy that you had fallen in love with and there wasn’t a care in the world.

The two of you pulled apart gasping for air. Your head was spinning. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” you sighed with a smile. Izuku giggled in response.

The two of you stayed in your room and went to sleep in each other's embrace not long after. You felt so safe in his arms, like you belonged there.

The next morning you woke up the blaring sound of your alarm. You turned around and shoved izuku’s shoulder. “Yo, pretty boy wake up,” you mumbled, voice groggy from just waking up.

Eyes still closed he wrapped his arms around your middle and pulled you towards his chest. “Nooo, I don’t wanna wake up. I stayed up super late confessing my love to the most beautiful girl in the world.” He whispered in response.

Before last night you two flirted or responded with wiry remarks like it was normal Tuesday. But now, it felt different. It wasn’t coming from your best friend, it came from a boy who had stolen your heart, and you stole his.

“I mean it. If I have to wake up you have to wake up,” You returned. He smiled and opened his eyes, “Good morning princess.”

You chucked and leaned forward to peck him on the corner of his lips before getting out of bed. “If I were you I’d head back to your room so you don’t have to sit through detention and have to explain why you were late.”

“Yeah you’re right,” he walked towards the door. “See ya later y/n.”

“See ya.”

#izuku midoria x reader #midoriya izuku #mha oneshot #mha x reader #mha headcanons #mha #my hero academia #fluff #mha fluff

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lady-o-ren · 3 years

Text

The Dig

You can read this on ao3 // HERE //

Suffolk, England

1939

“What's going on in Sutton Hoo, then that has you in such a hurry?”

James Fsaser reluctantly looked up from where his head had been braced on his leather satchel, clutched atop his knees, and gave the old ferryman a one-eyed stare.

“I've a job. Digging,” he swallowed, trying mightily to keep himself from retching as the wee boat he was in bobbed up and down like a mad carousel.

“You came all the way from Scotland to dig like a dog?” He laughed hoarsely, hawking up a wad of phlegm into the murky river water as he swung his oars.

“Ipswich,” Fraser muttered, turning a bit more green.

Ipswich Museum to be exact.

He'd been hired to help excavate a centuries old burial site located at a rural estate in Sutton Hoo, overseen by the archeologist, Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. A woman much admired (or envied depending on the man) for her keen mind and boundless curiosity (and unrivaled stubbornness that often spiraled into outright defiance according to those same particular men) that had her uprooting half of Great Britain in pursuit of the secrets hidden beneath the mossy plains. And more often than not her instincts were right and another antiquity would be dusted off to be reborn again.

Fraser wasn't sure what he'd done to earn the right to work by her side but Christ, he wouldn't question how lucky he was.

The boat then suddenly coasted to an abrupt stop against the rivers side.

“Here we are, Mr. Fraser. All in one piece. And I thank you for keeping me boat and boots tidy,” said the old ferryman with a wink.

Fraser didn't bother with a retort, he was just happy that the world had blessedly stopped spinning and hopped onto wonderfully solid land.

Smoothing the wrinkles from his attire and fixing his father's old grey cap atop his head (taking special care to tuck in his dark ginger curls that always peeked out from just under the rim), he made his way down the brambled path that the old man said led to the big house. After a brief introduction with the owner of the estate, he was then directed to where he'd be working, and trotted past the trees and sprawling country green to an open field.

From afar, Fraser could see three burial mounds jutting from the earth, grassy topped with yellow dandelions sprouting all over.

But what made his breath catch was the sight of the woman he'd been so eager to meet.

She was surveying the site with her hands on her trousered waist looking like a general on the cusp of conquest. Sensing his approach, she turned away from her prize and future glory, her short curls bouncing and gleaming a rich shade of earth in the dewy sunlight, and met his gaze with her own.

Sharp with intelligence. Kindled with mirth. Shimmering like molten gold.

"A Dhia," Fraser whispered to the fragrant spring air, and took off his cap, twisting it between his hands that ached to trace and memorize every curve of the archeologist's face.

She waved him over seeing him linger and a terrible heat sprang to the young lad's face at having been caught staring at the beauty like a halfwit, and forced his legs to move. Prayed he didn't fall flat on his face.

"Hullo there," she greeted, and clasped her small hand to his, but there was nothing dainty about its grasp. Fraser could feel the years of hard-earned experience chiseled in her palm that held his hand firmly, letting him know exactly who he'd be working for.

It sent a thrill down his spine.

"I'm Dr. Claire Beauchamp. And you must be the very late Mr. Fraser I've been waiting for."

"Aye, and I beg yer pardon for that, ma’am," Fraser replied in earnest, detecting a subtle spike of irritation in her voice, seeing the annoyed flick of her brow. "The morning train was running late.” By three hours! “ Then I had to wait for the ferryman to take me across the river -" He'd been taking his "tea" in the pub " - all a lousy excuse, I ken, but I promise ye it willna happen again."

Beauchamp crossed her arms and tipped her head to the side giving Fraser a scrutinizing once over that made his throat bob and the blood in his heart to palpitate.

"Good," she smirked, nodding her approval from his noticeable discomfort. "If you're anything like how the stiffs at Ipswich Museum described we'll get along well."

He clenched his jaw at the mention of the museum, the cantankerous men who worked there. Especially a certain Dr. Randall, who valued a good cigar over the work of a “farm boy”.

"And what do they say of me, if I may ask?"

Beauchamp bit her full bottom lip (wonderfully pink Fraser bashfully noted), quirking wryly.

“Quite a lot depending on who you ask. From what I've gathered you're hardworking, painfully intelligent and have an innate knack for reading the earth. But that you're also highly unorthodox, difficult and the most insufferable Scotsman ever to step foot in Ipswich. So naturally I had to work with you."

He let out a tightly held breath and chuckled softly.

"Weel, who am I to argue wi' a reference like that. I'm passionate about my work and little else, apart from food and kin. And while I've never been disrespectful to reason, I haven't the patience for men who think a title is deserving of my unquestionable fealty."

"And why should you? The conviction of a Viking is something to be admired not belittled,” she praised, making Fraser glow. "I only wish I could've been there to witness how you earned the ire of half the museum.”

“I'm merely in the right and they the wrong, more often than not,” he shrugged.

“I'm just as terrible,” she proudly grinned. ”But I know we'll make a good team. We'll have to if we want to tackle this lot.”

She motioned her head at the site looming tall, brimming with excitement that spoke to Fraser's own spirit.

"If that's so then it'll be an honor working wi' ye, ma'am."

He shook her hand once more and thought he felt her thumb move against his knuckle, light and curious as a brush stroke.

Working with two assistants from her previous digs (the studious Jeremy Foster and the wide-eyed youth Elias Pound), Fraser and Beauchamp made great strides in plowing the core of the mound that was the larger of the three, even when logic argued that the dip in the middle meant thieves of the past had already plundered it's horde.

But Fraser's gut and bones told him that there was something different about this one.

Beauchamp had thought so too.

"There's something grand and marvelous here begging to be found. Don't you think? Can't you feel it?"

The deeper they dug only intensified that feeling.

As had his attraction to the irrepressibly brilliant Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.

However, after a fortuitous streak of good weather, the air started to blow with the sweet scent of rain and the leaves of the oak trees that dotted the lush clearing turned toward the skies, parched and longing.

"We have some time, I think, before the rain comes," said Beauchamp, gauging the skies westward still clear of thunderclouds.

Fraser leaned against his shovel in the hollow of earth he stood in, his dirt stained sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and could see the mad impulse to defy mother nature flash in her eyes.

"Usually I'd agree wi' ye, ma’am, but yer hair -" his mouth flicked upward in unbridled appreciation. "Is curling like a tumbleweed."

She pressed a dirt-flecked hand near her temple and felt the wild frizzy pushback of flyaway curls fallen loose from her twisted bun, springing around her face like a mane.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she huffed. “Have I been like this all morning, Fraser?”

"Pretty much," he grinned, enjoying how her usual regal self pinked across her freckled cheeks and the wee scrunch of her nose.

But Fraser's smile faltered, catching himself for a fool, and averted his attention down to the soil where his heart had fallen. Writhed. Burrowed with the worms and roots.

For what use was it for a man like him to yearn for a woman like her?

He swallowed the hopeless lump in his throat.

"Shall we go for lunch then, wait for the weather to clear?"

Hearing the word lunch, Foster and Pound looked up from their own end of the excavation with hunger in their eyes.

"Did that on purpose did you?" said Beauchamp, throwing an accusatory glance at the ginger lad while trying to gather her wayward curls back to partial respectability.

He gave her a half smile.

"The Almighty is the one making it rain, ma’am. Take it up wi' him."

She sighed and her hands fell to her waist as she took one last disappointing glance above.

"I would if He ever bothered to listen,” she frowned, then gave the other men a nod that made them hoot and holler.

“Numpties,” she mumbled, though did so fondly, and puffed at a rebellious forelock flirting with the wind.

After covering the ditch with a tarp secured to the ground, the men headed for the local pub raucously singing an old drinking song with a few choice words changed.

Our Lady must have been an Admiral, a Sultan or a Queen

And to her praises we shall always sing

A pint for our Lady Beauchamp who fills us up with cheer

A pint for our Lady Beauchamp . . .

Their lady laughed and rolled her eyes, before waving the lads off with a promise to catch up to gather her things, and headed to the shepherd's hut that had been provided by the estate.

Fraser glanced back watching her go, and after a moment's hesitation where he reasoned it would be rude to leave without her, he too told the others he'd forgotten something and went after Beauchamp.

Cursing himself an "EEJIT!" every step of the way.

Inside the hut was a small curtained window softly lighting the room from the back and two wooden scuffed chairs positioned along the side wall with a table snugly fit between them. Beauchamp herself was crouched by the table legs where Fraser had left his satchel but it was now laid open on its side, contents spilled over.

At his unexpected appearance that shadowed the doorway, she turned his way with an apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry, I was just grabbing my bag when I tipped yours over and . . ."

She held up his small green fieldbook opened at the first page.

And white-hot panic flooded Fraser's veins.

"The writing caught my eye," she continued on, seemingly unaware that the poor lad was gripping the doorway for support. "I didn't know you spoke gaelic beyond the odd phrase here and there. That you can even write it too is something of a feat,” she said, impressed by the words secreted on the page.

“Aye,” he managed to breathe, relieved that she hadn't seen a thing. Not a thing! “I don't get much practice living away from home so I speak it in my mind and heart, write letters to my family when I can.”

“You've spoken of a sister, if I'm not mistaken. Older or younger?" She prodded, as if he were a new discovery, and he answered in hopes to distract her from what she still held in her hands.

Felt a fluttering warmth overtake him that she recalled him having a sister.

"Jenny,” he said, as he moved to kneel down beside her to stuff his scant belongings back in his bag. “She's older and feels the need to remind me of that fact whenever we see one another.”

“And you're the brat aren't you?”

Despite his predicament, Fraser couldn't help the grin spreading across his face.

"I was the devil's spawn, aye, but Jen was no angel. We once got into a terrible stramash about our chores on the farm, the way wee bairns do, and I ended up telling her she had a face uglier than a coo, smelled worse than one too. Next I knew, I was being tackled to the ground wi' my face shoved into a ripe pile of coo shite and my sister above me laughing her wicked wee arse off.”

Beauchamp broke into laughter and it made his stomach do a flip.

“I'm sorry, that must've been awful for you, but I think I may love your sister for that.”

“Everybody says so. Not sure it was worth it in the end myself . . .” said Fraser, his voice suddenly trailing off at the end seeing her attention turn back to the page.

His mind spiraled into action.

"But we really should get going before the rain catches us. It looks to be a downpour, a terrible one.”

“Well it's a good thing we're under a roof then isn't it?” She countered, eyes sparkling through her long lashes. “ Besides I'd rather have an impromptu lesson in gaelic on what,” she paused, squinting down at the book opened on her knees. “Baa-mia-’bruu -” means.”

“Bha mi a ’bruadar mun bhròn mhòr,” he begrudgingly corrected, wondering how rude it would be to just snatch his own fieldbook away. But then Beauchamp smiled as if charmed by his voice and echoed back his words with near perfect silky inflections, looking pleased as punch as she did so.

Endearing herself even more to the young Scot's already smitten heart.

“Verra good,” he hummed softly.

“Absolute luck,” she grinned, tapping her fingers atop his writing. “Now tell me what does it all mean?”

He shook his head embarrassed. "You'll think me daft, ma’am."

"I promise I won't."

She said it in such an earnest way, Jamie knew she spoke true. But then a deep rumble of thunder sliced through the air, enough to give Beauchamp a jolt that made her forefinger on the page slip and Fraser's stomach to rip and plummet to the old wood floor.

There, drawn on the page, was Beauchamp's face staring back at her.

“It’s nothing but some wee scribbles,” he stammered to explain, reaching for the book only for her to angle it away.

“You're right about that,” she agreed, her fine brows furrowing as she traced a slim finger to her pencil drawn cheek. “You've made one of my eyes bigger than the other, my nose a dash too long and -"

Her eyes went comically round as she pressed the pages to her chest, a sudden thought coming to her.

"You don't have anyone posed in the nude here do you?"

"O-Of course not! I'd never. I- I'd -"

"Breathe Fraser, I was only teasing you," she nearly giggled, but then her face softened with regret seeing his own face take on the horrible color of a split beet left to shrivel in the sun.

“But really, why bother with me?”

He had no answer but the one that pounded from his heart, a noise like a thousand drums that all struck the same adoring note. She could see it beaming from his face and a hushed silence fell between them as the rain finally came down, hitting the rooftop in a pitter-patter that enveloped her quietly spoken -

“Oh.”

That single utterance had Jamie wishing the rain would flood and swallow him up but it was now or never to speak his heart. No matter that hers would never be his to cherish.

Looking down at his hands, anxiously wringing the strap of his satchel, he spoke.

“There was never any helping it, me liking you. I'd never seen a sight sae fair as you, stubborn as you, nor wonderful as you. And I could never get ye out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried, but ye were always there like the sun and air."

He lifted his gaze to her likeness on the page.

"And then I just started filling my fieldbook wi' pictures of you if only to have something to remind me of you for when the job ends and we part ways. But I'm none so good as ye can see. I never could capture the grit and fire of yer spirit, the way yer curls bristle in excitement or the way yer eyes glow like a match to a candlewick . . . "

His heart tightened as his words faltered while Beauchamp remained quiet. Then like a blow to his chest she flipped through the small book once more, her face unreadable as stone. She looked through his sketches, one of her curls drawn like the ripples of the tide, another of her hands digging through the earth, and of her lush determined mouth curved into a beaming smile, bitten with impatience, beneath a perfect speckled nose.

And threaded between her gestures, her features were more bits of gaelic.

A bòidhchead . . .

Tha pian orm . . .

Tha cho teann sa tha a ’bhriogais gam iomain

"I told you I was no good. I ken I should just rip up the pages -” Fraser began to miserably say, but Beauchamp hushed him by taking his hand in hers and softly stroked her thumb against the work-hardened skin.

"You have a fine hand, Fraser. Especially for making my nose look as delicate as Garbo’s,” she smiled, cheeks touched lovely in pink.

Then in a moment that made it hard for Fraser to breathe, she simply said . . .

“Ask me for a drink.”

He blinked, thinking he misheard her, mouth agape. But there was no mistaking what brightened her eyes to shine like whisky.

“Ask me,” she repeated impatiently, almost laughing, as she squeezed his hand.

Fraser inhaled sharply and tentatively squeezed her small hand back.

“Will ye join me for a pint, ma’am?”

“Claire,” she grinned, and coyly tilted her head . “And of course I will. Took you long enough to ask,” she winked, making Fraser stare at her in charmed disbelief.

And then Beauchamp closed the distance between them, hand light as a feather against his chest.

“But first you ought to kiss me, Fraser. It's still raining and I might catch a chill from all this waiting."

Still staring at her mesmerized, with questions that could wait another day flitting through his mind, Fraser wove an errant bonnie curl around his fingers and smoothed it behind her ear. Letting his thumb drag against her cheek.

“It's Jamie,” he murmured, in a brush of his lips to hers.

And on and on it went.

Bha mi a ’bruadar mun bhròn mhòr. . .

I dreamt about the mourning. The deaths of great men. Terrible men. Old and young. Of Kings lost in battle buried beneath us. They cried out to me and the Earth came to life and twisted her roots around me, dragging me inside her womb. Dark and cold, breathless like a cave. But I wasn't frightened. I saw lights rushing around me, bright as the twilight sky. The souls that lie ahead. Surrounding us.

They brought me to you.

A/N: This had a ton of notes and explanations so you can read all those on ao3. But for sure I’ll say here this is very loosely based on the movie The Dig.

#jamie x claire #Outlander #outlander fic #outlander fanfiction

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